Stone Tablet
by Yoshimi Takahashi
Summary: One hundred years into the Golden Age, a worshipper of the evil Charon begins to try and control the power of the Summon Spirits, who have roamed the earth freely since the lighting of the lighthouses . . . . Full summary inside. DISCONTINUED AS FANFIC.
1. Where The Prologue Used To Be

A/N: I'm back with another new fanfiction (I'm not dead!)! Yes, I am too random to stay on one subject.

I meant to put this up only after I finished Weyard Weekly, but since I've been working on this a lot recently, I thought that I might as well show you I've been working on _something_! The first part's really short, but the chapters are much longer.

This is my first non-humour multi-chapter fanfiction. I'm rather nervous about how well I did. Here's the summary.

Full Summary: One hundred years into the Golden Age, a worshipper of the evil Charon begins to try and control the power of the Summon Spirits, who have roamed the earth freely since the lighting of the lighthouses. A mysterious man has taken the Tomegathericon, which is slowly corrupting his soul. And a warrior, answering to nothing and no one, has been sighted travelling towards in the footsteps of the Charon worshipper, leaving a trail stained with blood. Fate has begun to work again in the world, but will he be able to succeed when it becomes apparent that Charon has help from a dark god from before the dawn of time . . . ? PG-13 for violence and angst.

A/N: Pretty clichéd, isn't it? That is why I am asking you, my reviewer(s), to help. Any constructive criticism would be _greatly_ appreciated.

This story will most likely undergo massive editing. At the beginning of the most recent chapter, I will inform any editing, ranging from "Cleaning Up" to "Major Event Change." This will be based on my discretion and your ideas.

As this takes place nine hundred years ago, the actual characters from Golden Sun will not be a part of it, unless they've lived for a very long time . . . .

The story steals a lot of ideas from others, so if I can see where I have, I'll put up a credits section here (I'll probably not remember everything, so if you think you see something nearly identical to another work of fiction, I'll check if I've read it before). Also, if there are any terms or parts of another language I think you ought to know, I'll put it in the list. If there's something else you would like defined, then just tell me.

During one point in the prologue, it apparently gets very confusing, but I can't think of a way to be clearer without giving away something that won't be revealed until somewhere between chapter five and chapter eight. I'll see if I can fix it.

****

Please enjoy my first serious fanfiction! First off, the prologue!

**Disclaimer:** Yoshimi doesn't own Golden Sun, or else there would be a Golden Sun III in the works somewhere . . . .

**To my readers:**

**Stone Tablet has undergone a gigantic change in plot elements.**

**Therefore, the prologue no longer fits with the story.**

**Please go to the next chapter (chapter one) to begin reading. It is likely I will move around the chapters soon, but for now, I'll mark its place with this author note.**

**Yoshimi Takahashi**


	2. A Price Beyond Knowledge

Hello once again, my friends! I think this chapter's a little better . . . it's at least longer. Here are the review responses.

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Young Shadow -- Don't worry about me giving up! I'm already on chapter five, actually. Um . . . I take it you don't like Felix as much as Isaac. ^^;

Spirit Tamer -- Continuing quickly, as requested! *salutes*

Vyctori -- Two plugs, in fact! Thanks for the compliments, and the confusion should lighten a little sometime between chapters six and eight. Maybe more, not less (unless by one chapter). Oh, yes. Alfred was coming over, but I explained what a glomp is. *calls up tree* You can come down now!

Alfred: *clinging to tree branch* NO!

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There you go! Thanks also to EchoKazul, who tried to review but got her review eaten by Fanfiction.net. Now for the inspirations:

Inspirations and Sources 

Jaffrey, Madhur. _Seasons of Splendour_, © 1985, about the mystical qualities of the tamarisk tree.

Robb, Peter. _A History of India_, © 2002, for basic Indian culture.

Azul Eclipse's _Gather to Me_. I heard about it by word of mouth, so I haven't actually read it yet. For the effects of the Tomegathericon.

Glossary for Chapter One 

_Caste_: Indian social class

_Dharma_: Religious, also honour and duty

***

Yoshimi: Okay, enjoy the update, as well as it is possible!

Alfred: **Disclaimer: **Yoshimi doesn't own Golden Sun or anything in it, thank goodness.

Chapter One: A Price Beyond Knowledge 

Camellia draped herself over a branch of the tamarisk tree in the middle of Kandorea, Indra, the small village nestled in the crook of the mountains' arms. As everyone knew, tamarisk trees were magical, so it lent an air of mystery over what was, not counting the temple ruins, a very ordinary, ramshackle village.

"Camellia?" a voice called from below.

She dropped down, bending her knees to absorb the impact as she landed in front of the two boys.

"Mm? What is it?" she asked, a little irritably. "And how did you know I was up there?"

"When are you not?" one of the boys, Simon replied gently. "Also, your sword brushed against the branches as the wind moved them."

She placed a hand on her sword, belted at her side. It was a family heirloom, different from any other sword she had ever seen. Despite it having passed down the generations of her father's family, it was still as bright as if newly forged. "It still could have been someone else," she said absently.

"There are only three people who carry a sword so openly in this village, and you are the only one who wears a dress. I heard the wind catch it."

"Shouldn't a Venus warrior be more careful about being discovered?" the other boy, Terry, asked and adjusted his grip on the basket he was carrying.

"Shouldn't a non-Adept pipsqueak be more respectful of Venus warriors?" she retorted. "Be quiet and respect your elders."

The eight year old turned red and nearly dropped his basket while yelling, "I am _not_ short! I just haven't reached by growth spurt!"

"Sure, squirt," Camellia said airily, every inch the haughty teen.

Simon sighed. "I wish you two could get along," he said wistfully. "It would make things so much easier."

"Since when have I been concerned with making things easy?" they chorused, making a face when they realized that they had said it at the same time.

Simon sighed again. "Well, Master Forn told me that you were missing, _again_, from the group working on the restoration the temple. He asked me to tell you that you are going to get extra work tomorrow."

Camellia made an unlikely suggestion about what Master Forn could do with that idea, already thinking about how to escape work.

Simon, looking displeased, turned away and began walking down the path, planting his wooden stick in front of him. "Camellia, you know that Master Forn is only doing his job," he said to the air in front of him. "Terry, come here. Mrs Greit will need aid with her ankle."

Terry scowled. "I don't see why the assistant healer needs to be busier than the actual healer."

Simon glanced back over his shoulder. "You know full well that Miss Bernsford works very hard."

"Yeah, yeah," Terry said, scuffing his feet on the ground.

"Y'know, if I didn't know better," Camellia teased. "I'd think our ickle Simon had a crush on the village healer."

Simon turned his head away. "Of course I don't," he said quickly, his ears turning a delicate pink.

Camellia smiled. Someone who didn't know Simon as well as she did would think that she had hit a weak spot, but she knew that Simon would blush over almost anything; he couldn't help it.

She turned to see Terry silently sneaking away. She gave a crooked grin. Terry did not share Simon's workaholic nature.

"Terry," Simon said quietly. "If I were you, I would not be trying the east road. You might remember that Master Forn is looking for young volunteers at the temple."

Terry froze in mid-step. "Do you hear _everything_?"

Camellia knew the exact smile that Simon would be wearing at the moment. "I try to. Now, Mrs Greit."

Watching her younger friends walking down the road, she thought it incredible how easy it was to forget that Simon was blind.

***

Camellia dumped a pile of bricks into the dust, next to the wall under construction. She leaned against it, frustrated.

Master Forn noticed in an instant. "Hurry up," he instructed briskly. "Only fifteen more loads to go."

"Wondrous," she muttered grimly. "It's not like I haven't already carried several hundred."

Master Forn gave an exaggerated sigh of impatience. "You have carried _six_," he told her, tapping his foot on the dusty ground. "And considerably slower than you could. If you had been here when you were supposed to be, you would be done by now. Ah," he continued, holding up a hand as she opened her mouth. "You have told me several times over that you are going to be late for your sword lessons. It is your own fault, so continue working."

She grumbled. "As a warrior, I . . . ."

Master Forn's foot tapped faster, stirring up dust. "In a village such as this one, one man of the warrior _caste_ is enough. Your father may have wished for one of his daughters to carry on the warrior _caste_ of his family, but he is not lacking in wit to the extent that he is lacking in sons. He will understand that, for the good of the village, if you are going to take up the male's warrior _caste_, you should do the work assigned to normal village boys of your age. Many other sixteen year olds are doing the same task . . . at the right time of day, may I add."

"Master Rendal doesn't have to do any such menial tasks."

Master Forn's foot was now encased in a dust cloud. "He is an adult, full trained to the warrior's _caste_. He does his duty in the protection of the village, and he is enough for the protection." Master Forn turned away, bearing down on one of the sweepers. "Not there! You can't sweep the dust from the ground! In the stone floors. . . ."

Camellia sighed and walked over to the next load.

***

Finally! Freedom! Camellia raced along the streets, nearly singing in joy. Unfortunately, she didn't see Simon and Terry coming back from Mrs Greit's house.

From the pileup that ensued, Terry muttered, "Anyone would think _you_ were the blind one."

"Now, now," Simon restrained himself from saying "children." "Be nice."

Camellia stuck out her tongue at Terry. "Yes?" she asked in an innocent voice.

Simon rubbed his eyes; a futile gesture he knew, but he couldn't stop the habit from those four short years ago when he could see.

"Well, well children," a strange voice said, sounding as if this were his second language. "How are we today?"

The three turned towards the sound. There, a man was sitting behind a small table.

"What do you see?" Simon whispered to his friends.

"What a strange man," Camellia exclaimed softly. "He's dressed from head to toe in green and black vertical stripes! And he's got a hat that looks utterly ridiculous! It's got bells on the ends of the two ends of it and it's slipped halfway over his face, so the only way you can see his eyes are through those slits he's made in it. He's grinning almost madly . . .I think it's just too cheerful or something."

"He's harmless," Terry added. "He's just one of those travelling fortune tellers and magicians from Angara. He's got a crystal ball and some of those Angaran card things."

"I'm not so sure about this," Simon began quietly when the magician called again.

"Don't be frightened," he called. "Do you have time for a lonely . . . magician, and his bag of tricks?"

As they approached his table, Simon whispered, "Camellia, aren't these Angaran fortune tellers usually Jupiter aligned?"

"Of course! Their element aids to such work," she replied. "Why?"

"This man is definitely not Jupiter. In fact, I don't sense any normal Psynergy about him," Simon began.

"Little boy, would you like to play a game with me?" the magician asked Terry. "If you can pick a card and then find it again, or any card of the same alignment, then I will give you a prize. There is no fee."

"Maybe he's just . . . what do you mean by 'normal Psynergy'?" Camellia asked as Terry picked a two of Flame.

"His powers are a dark presence, growing on my mind as I search for their origin . . . I don't know whether I like this."

"Now," the magician told him, placing the card back in the deck. "You may shuffle it as you wish. Find the same card, or a card of the same alignment, and I'll give you a prize . . ."

"What about if he loses?" Simon asked loudly.

Camellia wasn't sure, but she thought that the man's eyes narrowed slightly at this. However, his grin never lessened. "What makes you think that anything will happen?"

"Terry, I wouldn't . . ." Camellia warned.

"Relax," Terry said, shuffling the deck expertly. "There's a good chance I'll win, and nothing's going to happen if I lose. Don't break my concentration."

Simon didn't say any more, but he watched the magician carefully.

"And now, watch the master!" Terry declared confidently. He placed the deck back on the table and drew a card. It was a four of Thunder.

Simon, just before Terry drew the card, straightened with a gasp. "Foul!" he called, just a second too late. "He used Psynergy to alter the deck!"

"Too late!" the magician cried, standing with a slightly mad chuckle. "He has played the game; now he will pay the price," he muttered insanely, placing a hand in a pocket and fishing out a black book. "The price demanded by the Tomegathericon!"

Terry stepped back anxiously. "But you said there was no . . ."

"There was no fee for winning," the man said nastily. "But the price for losing is high beyond knowledge . . . the price, dear boy, of your very soul!" He lifted the clear gem on the table with a flourish. "Say goodbye to life, and hello to your new world! Tomegathericon, call to his soul!"

The black book glowed with a fierce black light. It raced out, scattering upon impact with Terry.

Terry collapsed with a gasp. Catching him, Camellia shouted, "What did you _do_ to him?"

"I thought I made that quite clear, dear," the magician replied, intent on the now glowing crystal. "But we can't have you following us, no, that we cannot!"

"You aren't going to stop us!" she shouted angrily, letting Terry drop and drawing her sword.

"You won't have any choice, my dear!" The magician brandished a whip. "Wild Wolf!"

There was a growl, and Camellia was staring at the largest--and deadliest--wolf she had ever seen. The magician gave another insane laugh and fled down the road, leaving his table behind.

"Oh boy," Camellia muttered. She placed her feet where her father had instructed her to and placed her sword in front of her.

Simon quickly moved behind her. He was no warrior. It was up to her.

The wolf was luckily, despite size and power, no smarter than the normal wild wolves. It announced its attack with a howl and lunged for her throat. She brought up the sword into its path. The wolf brought its jaws crashing into the metal, drawing sparks. It fell towards the ground, dragging her sword down with it. It bore down with its teeth, attempting to snap the metal. Luckily, the sword was strong enough to resist and she was able push with the sword, driving the wolf backwards. The wolf let go at the last moment and leapt backwards, circling around to see if it could get at her more easily from another side.

Simon also moved, trying to find a place to get to so not to be in the way. Camellia instructed him to run down the path towards the village. He took off, obviously pacing himself so that he could make it due to his poor physical shape. The wolf tried to take off after him, but she slid on one knee in its way, trying to hit the leaping wolf from beneath. The wolf twisted in midair, trying to avoid the stab. She grazed it with the sword and rolled to avoid its landing. She started to get up, but the wolf landed on her, teeth bared. She used her sword to hold its mouth back, but she was trapped beneath the wolf's large body. She struck out with her free arm, but the wolf held firm, pushing on her sword. She grabbed it with both hands and pushed back, grunting with effort.

"Enough," a voice called, full and clear.

Looking beyond the large, furry body, she saw her father, large and forbidding as ever, holding a sword in his hand. She smiled in relief, but turned quickly back to keeping the wolf off her.

Her father strode forward and struck at the wolf. It snarled and tried to escape, but as it did so, Camellia's sword was able to push upwards, throwing the wolf off her. It struggled to get up, but her father brought the sword down, decapitating the beast. It twitched once, and then went limp.

She turned to her father. He smiled, but said nothing except, "Remember to wipe your sword after battle."

She laughed and rushed to do as she was told.

***

Camellia helped to support her father on the way home. In battle, he had broken his leg, and it had never properly healed. He could move short distances, but walking too far was troublesome.

"Now then," he asked. "How did this come to pass?"

She told him everything since she had first met the magician. As she told of what had happened to Terry, her father tightened his grip on her shoulder, but remained silent. When she had finished, he was quiet for a time.

After they had walked farther, he finally spoke. "This . . . an old warrior like myself cannot discover the truth on my own. Come, help me to the old meeting hall. We will call the council."

They redirected their steps toward the meeting hall. At the doors, Camellia was instructed to wait outside. She sunk down and waited as the clamour of voices commenced. The bell at the top of the hall was rung, summoning the members of the council.

Simon came, following the village's healer. He leant against a wall, arms crossed, nearby her, staring at the distant horizon and thinking.

'He thinks too much,' she thought. 'I almost feel that he's a scholar trapped inside a fourteen year old body.'

She sighed. There was nothing to do but wait. So she let her head fall forward and fell half-asleep.

***

When the doors finally opened, Camellia was awake enough to hear it and stand. A man looked around. Seeing her, he announced, "The presence of Camellia is requested."

Simon looked over, surprise in his eyes, his expression still impassive. Camellia walked briskly into the hall. Maybe she would get some answers. Or, she thought suddenly, she was tasked with tracking down the magician!

She smiled. Soon, they would have to see her as the warrior she was.

As she entered, she saw Master Rendal, the third warrior of the village, leaning against the wall behind the high seat, looking at the ground, eyes closed.

"Camellia," the man sitting in the high seat. "We have decided to let you let go of your normal duties of the village and take up fully the _dharma_ of the warrior's _caste_."

"Am I charged with tracking down the magician?" she asked excitedly.

Surprise was displayed across the man's face. "No, of course not!"

"You are charged with my task." Master Rendal had lifted his eyes. "To guard the village against the possibility of attack. _I_, being the far more experienced warrior, shall track down the evil."

"Exactly. I . . ."

"One moment!" Camellia called, slamming her hands down on the table. A scribe made a strangled noise as all his papers went airborne. "I am skilled enough to find and destroy this magician, _and_ I know what he looks like!"

The man's mouth opened and closed, flabbergasted. "But you . . . you're . . ."

Camellia's fists tightened on the table. "A girl?" she ground out, continuing fiercely, "The people around me can vouch for my ability."

"I can vouch for her strength, at least," the scribe muttered, picking up his papers.

"Camellia." Camellia looked at Master Rendal, who had stepped forward. "You may have potential. You may be able to beat village louts who have had no more lessons in swords work than you have had in normal woman's work. The times may be calming down from what they were when the lighthouses were lit, but there is still danger. If you were to go, you would be killed. Stay here and work that potential into skill."

"No." Camellia placed a hand on her sword. "I challenge you to a fight. The winner will have proven themselves to have won the right to leave the village."

"You don't have to . . . ." The man in the high seat stood in rage.

Master Rendal stepped forward. "Sit," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth to the man. Louder, he told Camellia, "Fine. This will be the best way to show you why you cannot leave the village without harm coming to you. So neither of us will get ourselves killed, we will use wooden swords, weighted to the weight of the sword we normally use."

"Fine." Camellia tightened her grip on her sword. "The sooner, the better."

***

"You all know the rules. Now, face your opponent and fight!" The announcer scurried off the field of battle.

Camellia brought the wooden sword in front of her and ran towards Master Rendal. He stood still until she brought her sword around to strike. He blocked, blocking each of her blows, obviously bored. He continued to block her strikes until she brought her sword straight through his defences with a feint. He quickly twisted around the sword and disengaged.

"So," he said, a look of slight intrest now in his eyes. "You have trained better than I had thought. But it will not change the fact that I will defeat you." He placed his sword level from his shoulders and crouched. "Prepare yourself!"

He rushed forward, bringing his sword swiftly towards her. She danced to the side, bringing her sword up to counter. Only luck allowed her sword to be in the way as he readjusted where his sword was moving, bringing it sideways at her.

'A feint!' she thought, ducking under and bringing her sword above her head. 'He never meant to hit with that strike, only to bring in the element of surprise.'

She struck at his left side, but the blow was blocked by the wooden sword and pushed back. She barely regained her balance when he swung towards her left side. She blocked, but just as it clicked against her sword, his wooden sword was on her right. She hastily brought her sword there, but his sword was already about to hit her left leg. She moved it, allowing him to just strike at the empty part of her dress. She tried to attack, but he blocked and then sent a powerful blow towards her front. She blocked, but its force knocked her backwards. As she began to fall, he moved swiftly to the side and struck her across the back. She fell forward. She could barely hear the announcer call that she was defeated.

He lowered his sword. He only whispered, but she heard it loud and clear over the announcer's voice. "If you were to leave this village, you would face people of my skill. And with real swords, there is no second chance. Good luck in the village."

She watched him turn and walk away, never once glancing back at her. The noise of the crowd seemed distant as Simon walked forward. She knew he was talking to her, but the only thing she still was conscious of was the back of Master Rendal, walking towards the village exit.

***

She woke later that night, still in bed in the healer's house. She stared at the ceiling.

There was one thing for certain. She was going to go after the magician, no matter what others told her. She _was_ going to get stronger, and it wasn't here.

She sat up, cringing a little as her back protested. She dressed and strapped on her sword. She then took a stick and wrote on the clay tablet on the wall, explaining where she had gone. She then walked outside.

She stayed in the shadows, pausing only when another person walked down the darkened streets. She walked down, out of the village in the area least likely to have anyone nearby.

Suddenly, a full bag was tossed at her. As she caught it, she heard a familiar voice.

"You aren't going to get very far as unprepared as that."

She looked forward. In the moonlight, she made out Simon, holding his staff in one hand and holding the string attached to his bag over his shoulder.

"Simon? How . . . ?" she asked.

"I haven't known you this long for nothing," he replied. He turned. "I figured that you might need a healer on such a dangerous journey."

She stared at his back. "But, you love this village! Your family . . . your teacher . . . ."

He bowed his head slightly. "They'll get over it," he said, apparently trying to hide the sad tone in his voice. He looked back. "Besides, what kind of a friend would I be if I let my friend go searching for my other friend on her own?"

She looked at him, smiled, and ran ahead. "Well, you'd better be able to keep up, then!"

"I was sort of guessing you might wait for me, seeing as how _my_ bag has all the food," he replied, smiling.

She ran back and grabbed his sack. "Now it doesn't!"

"Camellia! Hey, wait!" He took off after her, smiling all the way.

~~~

Yoshimi: There you go! . . . . What's that smell? *walks into kitchen*

Alfred: *sleeves rolled up and wearing apron* *mixing something in bowl* Hello, Yoshimi-san.

Yoshimi: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

Alfred: *confused* I'm making dinner.

Yoshimi: You are? Really? Sorry for yelling. I'm not used to a muse that actually helps me!

Alfred: *searching through cupboards* Mm-hmm . . . now, where's the sugar. . . .

Yoshimi: *shudders* After one of my muses, I got rid of all the sugar I could, or else the world would have ended by now. I'll go get some. *leaves*

*later*

Alfred: *leaning on the counter with nose stuck in cookbook* Let's see . . . preheat the oven to. . . . What's an oven? *looks around* *sees dustbin* I guess this must be it. *casts spell to make fire in dustbin*

Bag inside dustbin: *melts*

Alfred: *sniffs* Hmm . . . strange smell. Yoshimi must have left something in the "oven." I'd better put it away in the "refrigerator." *puts melted bag of garbage into refrigerator* Now . . . place bowl in oven and cook for twenty minutes. *places bowl in dustbin and casts the fire spell again* Now . . . take other bowl and warm in microwave for fifteen minutes. Okay. . . . *places bowl in oven*

*fifteen minutes later*

Yoshimi: I'm ho--

Bowl in oven: *explodes*

Yoshimi: AAAAAAAAAH! *dives for cover* *knocks over dustbin*

Bowl in dustbin: *on fire* *falls on floor*

Yoshimi: !!! Fire! I'd better get some water to put it out! *goes to refrigerator* *nearly passes out from smell* AAARGH!

Alfred: *comes in* Oh, the "microwave" bowl must be-- YAAH! FIRE! *tries to smother it with apron*

Apron: *catches on fire*

Alfred: ACK!

Bowl in oven: *contents begin to seep out of oven door*

Yoshimi: HELLLLP!


	3. The Book From The Edge of Shadow

An update! This is going to be my last update before I update one of my humour fanfictions. First, review responses.

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EchoKazul -- Hooray! It worked! Now I've got a higher review count! (I be greedy and without grammar!) Thanks for the compliments! Well, luckily, the kitchen is still standing . . . barely. . . .

MercuryAdept -- Of course you can call me Yoshimi! That's completely fine. I've had to put up with people calling me "Yosh'" all the time, anyway. . . . Thank you for the compliments! Mm . . . I think Alfred's been my best muse so far though, which is really quite sad, actually.

Vyctori -- No, I don't, which is surprising since I have incredible luck in everything else. Thank you as well for the compliments (I love all of the compliments I'm getting . . .)! Yes, Camellia can be quite contrary and temperamental when she feels like it. I feel very sorry for the scribe, but I felt it added something to the scene. Hey, what would be the point of writing a fanfiction about someone who's already unbeatable? That would be no fun . . . although the makers of Rurouni Kenshin do well at that! Here's your update soon!

&&&

This chapter is most confusing. It doesn't follow the main characters here. Instead, it focuses on the past of a character that has already been introduced . . . I'll let you guess who.

Once again, any constructive criticism is most welcome. Also, if you can see anything that seems a lot like something you've read, then tell me.

I can't find any new inspirations this time other than what I've heard from "Gather To Me," as was mentioned in the last chapter.

---

Glossary 

Assassin: Member of a nomadic group. They live in small tribes around Weyard, perfecting a fighting style based around speed, dodging, and stealth.

Gabomba: Tribal spirit. Worship is based around the Kibombo Rock, situated in Gondowan.

---

Alfred: As it is with any chapter, Yoshimi Takahashi does not own Golden Sun (Books I or II) or any of the inspirations for this story.

***

Chapter 2: The Book From The Edge Of Shadow 

Drums. They pounded through his world. Beating, beating . . .

For what? He looked around. His search had brought him here, a young apprentice to the temple of Fate, to Kibombo Rock. He felt his journey was nearly at an end.

There! There were the drummers, sitting in the cliff that surrounded the Kibombo Ahead, he saw a large group of warriors of the tribe gathered around, stamping their feet, planting their spears in the dust, chanting, calling upon Gabomba.

He wrinkled his nose. Fate's beard! When would these spirit-worshippers turn to the truth?

But there was no time for that now. He looked past that, at the vaguely face-shaped rock that a well-dressed (well, for _these_ savages) woman stood, facing Kibombo Rock, holding in her hands . . . .

There it was! It was the Healing Orb, sacred to Fate, holding the instructions to create potions the likes of which had never been seen in Weyard before it had come, a scarce fifty years ago.

This was a heaven-send to him . . . when you thought about it, literally. One of the rare non-Adepts, he still held the passion shared by many Mercury Adepts: to heal.

To heal was to live! That is the way he thought of it, anyway. Because of the sacred Healing Orb, he was able to do the work usually done by Mercury Adepts. He had to get it back!

Stealing around the back, carefully keeping out of the firelight, he found himself at a small hole in the rock. He peered around the statue.

The eye-like hollows seemed to glow. He was unafraid. It must be a trick of this Psynergist, he decided. He saw the woman disappear in the mouth-like cavern in the front, walking up the grotesque arch descending from it.

In her hands was the orb.

Hesitating for a moment, he disappeared through the back.

***

Climbing through the caverns that crisscrossed Kibombo Rock, he found himself behind the woman, who was putting on her new cape and turban in front of a small statue. He ducked down a small passageway.

Footsteps. Curse the luck! She was coming down this way. He fled the hallway, ducking behind a large bush. The woman continued down the hallway, her Venus Psynergy lighting up the room as she went on her way.

He turned and found himself facing another, smaller cavern. Peering down it, he saw a soft glow emanating from . . .

Thank Fate! The orb! He rushed down, sprawling headlong once, getting back up immediately in his haste to retrieve the orb.

He picked it up, relief flowing through every inch of his body. Finally! He could leave this accursed place. He got up to leave when something caught his eye.

Sitting on a large stone, of all places, was a book. Despite the dripping water droplets, it seemed free of decay. He picked up the book with a gloved hand (it would have to be dirty, staying in this dismal cave for so long!), lifting his opposite hand to lift the glowing orb until it illuminated the book.

Written on the cover were some strange runes. The side had a repetition of these runes, as well as two skeletal hands that came from the back and front, almost like hinges. No, they had to be hinges. What other use could they be?

Strange. It was clearly old, and it had probably been here for a long time, but there was no sign of mold, nor was there the slightest _dampness_, even. Putting down the orb, he opened the book.

The runes were inside the book as well. He saw the runes on the cover at the beginning of a longer paragraph. The strange letters ended, almost tauntingly, near the bottom, promising more to come.

He hesitated. Something was telling him that there was something _wrong_ about this book. He had no idea why he would be interested in an intelligible book from spirit worshippers, and he _knew_ he had seen those interlocking hands before. But maybe later, pages onward, there would be normal words. Maybe an explanation for the skeletal hands, too . . .

He turned the page.

The runes travelled onward down the page in a nearly endless stream. He could almost hear them whisper secrets, begging to be uncovered by him. Knowledge he had never dreamed of, at his fingertips, if he would only listen more carefully. He poured over each and every unfamiliar rune, every rough scratching in the papyrus. He was getting close, he was sure . . .

He suddenly heard footsteps, coming closer. Cursing himself for having not paid enough attention, he lifted his light. The cave seemed darker, for some reason.

Unconsciously, he shoved the tome in his pocket. It almost seemed to _hum_ in satisfaction.

He had no time to think about that now. The woman was standing in the entryway, staring at him in shock. It was time for action.

With a speed he didn't know he had, he grabbed a rock and heaved it at her. She ducked, but was unprepared for the second stone. She dropped to the cold floor.

He burst into sweat. He had never raised even a fist against another living being, before now.

Rushing over in the dying light from the orb, he checked the woman's pulse. It was still strong. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Why should she live?

The thought struck him suddenly. He didn't want her to live. He wanted to take up a sharp stone; no, the knife stuck in the woman's belt. He wanted to _kill_ the . . .

He jerked away. Where had that thought come from? He stumbled outside, still bearing his light. It was slightly brighter now, but it had a purple undertone. No, the light was dimmer, but there was another, slightly weaker light. The sickly purple was coming from his pocket, where rested the . . .

A shout. The guards had found him. He raced along, all thoughts set aside as he scrambled to escape the approaching warriors. He had never been in very good shape. He wished he could ride on something.

An image popped into his mind. A whip, ordinary from the outside, but almost _pulsating_ with inner strength, promising that power to the one who would just take it in his hand. Accompanying it was another image of him riding a beast, riding like the wind. The power of the beast was beneath him, in _his_ power . . .

The guards were gaining. With a curse, he left his thoughts in his dust, not spending any time on them.

***

He fell flat on his face, sprawling into a bush. He panted heavily, making no move to get up. They would get him, no matter what he did, or where he ran or how fast.

The thought was strangely comforting.

There they came, rushing up the slope. He closed his eyes, ready to die.

Nothing came. He opened his eyes again. Strangely, they had gone past him without noticing. He got up cautiously. One wrong move could mean death in these hills. The guards were not the only or even biggest danger here.

No sign of movement. Breathing a prayer to Fate, he carefully made his way up the slope, away from the rock. The way was easier with the light of the orb and the faint glow from his pocket.

***

He made it to a small village of another tribe as the sun set, painting the hills a soft orange. It also helped hide him, as he also gained an orange tint. The priest found a small nook between two buildings and slept.

It was around midnight when he woke. The moon cast an eerie glow on the street, where a tribesman made his way down the street, his spear cast lazily over his shoulder. His companion was making a line in the sand with the point of his spear.

Suddenly, the first person gave a small gasp and toppled forward. There was a dart in his neck.

The other jumped and looked around. The priest, however, was able to spot the attacker first.

An Assassin discarded his blowpipe and moved in, knife flashing in the moonlight.

The priest drew himself back. Assassins were a group that lived in wildernesses nearly everywhere. They accepted odd jobs; if that job included a little murder or skulduggery, well, so much the better. They were masked at all times, so they were hard to trace.

The priest knew he had to do something . . . but what? By the laws of the temple, he was forbidden to kill or even hold a weapon, but this _was_ an Assassin . . .

The warrior had noticed the Assassin and began to bring up his spear, but the Assassin, trained since birth for speed and accuracy, was too fast. The top of the man's spear tumbled to the ground, useless. The Assassin twirled his dagger, taunting the man he would kill.

The priest, hardly registering any thought, grabbed the spear from the fallen man and brought it up to bear. The Assassin's mask, glowing sinisterly in the purple glow that had appeared, turned towards him. He (she?) did not dare make a sound, or else wake the entire village. The shaded eyes behind the mask seemed to be speculative.

Without warning, the Assassin dove, dagger first. The priest jumped back and to the side in a move he was sure he couldn't have done that morning.

'It must have been something I ate,' he speculated as, without thinking, brought his spear to one side.

The movement deflected his opponent's second knife that had been moving, without his notice, to the opposite side. He brought the spear to strike at his foe, who prepared to block his swing. The spear changed direction in mid-thrust, bringing the butt of the spear to the Assassin's shoulder, causing him to drop a knife. He sent the spear in a predictable move, easily seen in the purple glow lighting the battle. The Assassin sliced the spear in two, hoping to gain the advantage. As his opponent was occupied with his spear, he kicked out, making the Assassin's knees collapse. The butt of the spear whirled as his opponent fell, knocking the Assassin out.

The priest grabbed the dropped knife. He had seen the Assassin, Fate knows already drenched in blood, kill a man in cold blood. Why shouldn't the Assassin get death? Someone should kill him. He looked around. The second warrior had fled. There was no one there. Except him.

Why shouldn't he kill the man? Or woman. It was impossible to tell. He certainly deserved it. Yes, just a quick blow and all the killing would be over. Maybe wake him up; let him know he was going to die, like his victims did . . . savour the moment . . . take the beating heart from the Assassin's chest and . . .

The knife jerked, causing him to slice his own left arm below the elbow. Thrusting the knife in his belt, he clutched it. What had come over him? He never had been that bloodthirsty. And he had battled . . . he could never have done that . . . and the purple glow. Where had that come from?

It had come from his pocket. It was gone now, but he still looked in his right pocket. There wasn't anything in there. Just a few knickknacks, a couple of herbs . . .

He felt a chill go up his spine. And then there was the book.

But that couldn't have happened. Never. Not in a million years. Not to him.

Could it?

He sat, pale and not stirring, waiting for something he couldn't identify.

As the dawn painted his pale cheeks pink once again, he arose, quite nearly forgetting the entire episode of last night. Then the body of the man next to him brought it all back forcefully.

He noticed that the Assassin had left, forgetting his blowpipe. He picked it up, examining it. There was one dart still loaded, but any other darts would have been taken by the Assassin. He pocketed it and walked, rather slowly, out of the village into the mountains.

He made his way along the sparsely forested Kibombo Mountains, his thoughts rather scattered. He picked up that there was a tree in front of him; a wild gorilla that needed to be avoided; a stream that he needed to ford. Other than that, he did not think.

At dusk, he made camp. Sitting by the warm fire, he began to contemplate the events of the day.

What had happened back there? He pondered this as he took out the tome with a gloved hand. It looked so . . . so _ordinary_. There was no purple glow anywhere. Only his fire, and the faint glow from the orb lit the desolate plain. He found his hand searching the cover, to open it, to read it . . .

Suddenly, he tossed the book into one of his packs. What was wrong with him? He couldn't keep his hands off that book. He'd better leave it alone.

His mind wandered. He noted that, as the twilight was gone, the orb seemed brighter than it had at first. He scratched an itch and threw another branch on the fire. His idyll was broken by a large, hairy foot stomping down in front of his fire.

'Wild Gorilla,' he thought, panicked. 'I'm not prepared to . . .'

As you may have guessed, the gorilla didn't seem to want to give him that time to think. With a roar, it scattered his fire using one of its calloused hands. It began to advance on him.

'If only I could use Psynergy,' the priest thought rapidly. 'Then this would be no problem . . .'

Another image flashed in his head. A small, glowing card that seemed to hide the essence of fire inside its papyrus. There _he_ was, holding the flame, juggling it, smiting all who stood in his way. He ruled the power . . .

He grabbed a burning tinder and struck at the monster. It calmly swatted at him, snapping the stick. He backed up, wide-eyed and fearful. The monster punched with a giant fist, slamming the priest into a tree. He yelped, something sharp sticking into his side . . .

The Assassin's knife! He had it there. He drew the dagger, ignoring the cut it had made on his side and crouched, ready to fight.

Once again, the fight was bathed in purple light.

The monster advanced, a fist ready. He watched calmly as it did so. The monster reared back to give a deathblow.

That would be its last act. He leapt forward, dagger seeking the unprotected chest. The dagger hit flesh, ripping through. The gorilla roared once, still defiant, but it fell facedown onto the ground, dead.

He sank to the ground again. He was fighting an inner battle. The sound of knife hitting flesh rang through his mind, pleading to be made real again. Blood streamed around his vision, begging to be his, to be taken from its former owner . . .

He stood shakily, gathered his stuff, and strode off, not knowing where he was going. Or how the book had ended up in his pocket again . . . .

***

He made it back to the village again, guided by the fading light of the orb. Dawn was coming back, so he placed the orb in his left pocket and strode down the village streets.

There was no one around as he walked along. He wondered at this, but then he came to a place where warm light was still pouring from a window. He peered inside.

An elderly couple huddled near the fire with a large group of children. They seemed troubled and fearful.

"Hail, friends," he called through the window.

The old man looked up. "Hail, traveller," he said feebly, beckoning to the priest. "Come and share our fire. We have but meagre fare, but what we have is yours."

"Nay, friend," the priest responded. "I do not have time to stop and eat. Where might the rest of the village be?"

The man sighed. "They are out there, fighting. Our enemy have come upon us in the night, and our champion was murdered just one night past. We are a peaceful tribe, hating war, but we must defend ourselves."

"I will go and see this," the priest responded. "Even if I can do nothing, I cannot just stand by and watch your village be destroyed." He turned to leave.

"But what can . . . ?"

"Maybe nothing," the priest responded, adding under his breath, "But I must atone for my sins."

He made his way along, coming to the top of a hill at last. There, he looked down and saw a horrific sight. A battle raged below.

'Even if I can do nothing,' he thought. 'I will not stand by.'

He started down when a sudden idea gripped him.

Use the book.

But what good would that do?

Use the book.

But how?

_Use the book._

His mind was spinning. He seemed to have no control over his own mind. He fell on his knees, clutching his head . . .

Suddenly, he could think clearly again. He looked back at the battle and gasped in horror.

The ground was shaking, pushed up in dozens of places as brown, sinewy humanoids rose up and began advancing on the battle . . . zombies! The warriors gasped at the sight.

One young one ran up and sliced off an arm from one. Someone else struck off the legs of one and the head of another. The warriors sighed in relief, but the sigh was cut short.

They advanced, not mattering that several parts of their bodies lay on the ground. The one without legs even pulled itself along by its arms. The headless one reached out, seeking the warrior who had relieved it of its head.

This was too much. The enemy tribe broke ranks and fled in terror. The other group shrank back, still ready to protect their beloved village. The zombies, however, took no notice, fading away like vapour in the morning sun.

After a long silence, a cheer went up among the tribe's warriors, but it was ragged and unenthusiastic. They were still overawed, and scared, by what they had witnessed.

The priest stared for a moment longer, than turned and left, clutching the book in his gloved hand. It still glowed a faint purple.

***

He survived another day of no conscious thought, wandering in the dark recesses of his mind.

At night, he made camp yet again. He finally was able to grasp his thoughts and wonder at the unassuming book still clutched in his hand.

What was with this book and with the events that had been occurring ever since he had grasped it, deep in Kibombo Rock? He set it down. All of these things had occurred only since he had come into his life.

He shook his head. It. _It_. He had just called the book a "he!"

He tossed the book to the side. It bounced twice, not opening a hair.

It would be best to ignore it. Once he had the willpower to not succumb to . . . whatever it was doing, he could examine it more closely.

He tried to let his mind wander, but it always circled back to the tome. It called him, whispering secrets, suggesting plans.

He desired healing. That, the whispers in his mind suggested, could be his. He could be one of those other healers, casting Ply, Cure, Aura, whatever he wished! Or all of them! He would heal their pain, heal their sorrows. People would gather to him, and he, greatest of healers, would heal them all. All this would be his, if only he took the book.

He hesitated. He had not yet proved that he could resist the temptation . . .

Or had he? Yes, he hadn't done so yet. He was strong enough. He needn't waste the time to grasp the power.

But, this power was not guaranteed.

Yet, what if it was true? He could take it and be sure. He began to reach, his hand gloveless.

Something protested inside him. He snatched his hand back, looking warily at the book in the dim, flickering light from the orb.

Someone could _die_ while he waited. Someone languished, lost in a disease that he alone could cure, with the book's help.

What if he was wrong, and couldn't control what he unleashed?

_Take the book_.

No longer sure whether it was his voice or another's that was arguing in his mind, he reached out and grabbed the book.

Power! He had never imagined such power. It rushed through him like gleeful children playing. Pleasure spread with it, warmth and a tingling feeling as the power surged. It was in _his_ control!

Opening straight to the second page, he looked over the runes. He still couldn't understand them, but that didn't matter. It was the elated feelings that swept through him.

He didn't even notice when the orb's light flared and died. Even if he had, he wouldn't have cared. All that mattered now was the book and the power it promised.

***

Many hours later, he set it down. The aftershock left him giddy, seeing small dots in his vision. The purple glow faded, leaving him in darkness . . .

Darkness! He groped, panicked, for the orb. How could he not have noticed that it had gone out! Ever since he had first seen it, it had shone brighter than any torch. Now, no light came from its surface. It had been fine a few days ago.

He laughed grimly. That felt a lifetime ago. That was when he first grasped . . .

He gasped suddenly. The book. How could he not have noticed the light dying while he had been travelling?

Something was very wrong with the book. He must have been blind not to see it this clearly before.

He would not do it again. He was able to resist it before. Until he had decided not to wait.

What a fool he had been! He had thought he was able to resist its powers, but he had succumbed to it without knowing.

His body ached, remembering the rush of power. He shook himself and went to sleep. He would just have to try harder. It would be simple now that he knew the true dangers.

As he closed his eyes, he saw the book glow mockingly in the edge of his vision.

***

He awoke the next morning, packed, and left. He didn't move the book from the ground where he had put it.

It didn't matter. Later that day, when he stopped to make camp, it was back in his pocket. He took it with a gloved hand and threw it as far away as he could. It glowed as it flew in an arc. It stopped halfway on its flight. A knife, thrown from the darkness, struck it down. The knife, which would have struck him down, also fell.

Looking up, he saw the Assassin he had defeated only nights before. The dark figure stared at him through the mask, eyes full of venom. He (or she) jumped down.

He never made it to the ground. A dart flew through the air and embedded itself in his throat, killing him instantly. The corpse dropped to the ground with a thud.

The priest placed a hand to his heart. He felt his hand clutching something. He looked, and saw with horror it was the blowpipe he had picked up from the assassin. The dart that had been inside it was missing. . . . He realized where it must be. In the neck of the dead man.

He had taken a life, which was forbidden to the priesthood by pain of death. His head swirled. His mind was in turmoil. He couldn't think of anything other than the dead man who lay nearby. The one he had killed. He didn't even notice when his hand grasped the book.

He didn't let go of the book again.

~~~

Yoshimi: And that's that! A rather confusing chapter, but the next one should be easier to understand. *sniffs* Wait . . . IS THAT SMOKE?! *runs outside with bucket of water* *throws bucket*

Alfred: *sopping wet and with the bucket on his head* ¬_¬ Good morning, Yoshimi.

Yoshimi: Huh? Where's the fire?

Alfred: *points at small, well-contained campfire* There. *dries self off with magic*

Yoshimi: Oh. *sniffs* What's that other smell? It smells like breakfast . . .

Alfred: *gestures at frying pan suspended over the fire* I felt sorry for having making such a mess of the kitchen the other day, I made some breakfast in the way _I_ know how. It's almost done.

???: *runs up* Please! I need food! I'm _starving!_

Yoshimi + Alfred: {???)

???: Please! I'll owe you my life!

Alfred: *hands him plate of food*

???: *begins eating*

Yoshimi: . . . GUY?!

Alfred: Who?

Guy (from Fire Emblem): *looks up from food* Hmm? How did you know my name?

Yoshimi: {!) Wow! It's Guy!

Guy: Hey! How do you know me?

Alfred: Never mind. I thought you were hungry.

Guy: Oh! Right. *eats some more*

Alfred: About that favour. . . .

Guy: You saved my life! I'll do anything you ask!

Alfred: How about you become this author here's muse?

Guy: Consider it done! *pauses* What's a muse?

Alfred: *shakes head* You, my friend, have a lot to learn.

Yoshimi: *takes a plate of breakfast and begins eating* Mm! This is good! What is it?

Alfred: Spirit guide rations.

Yoshimi: What type?

Alfred: *scratches head* To be honest, I don't know.

Yoshimi: WHAAAAT?!

Alfred: ^^; But it tastes good, doesn't it?

Yoshimi: What is it?! Really, you MUST know!

Alfred: No idea.

Yoshimi: 0_0 AACK! I-I'VE BEEN POISONED!

Alfred: *taking plate* Don't worry. I've been eating it for years and it hasn't done anything to me. *takes large bite*

Yoshimi: *whimpers* I'm going to die!

Alfred: *swallows* It won't kill you. Unlike not reviewing. *looks mysterious*

Guy: *confused* How will not reviewing kill you?

Alfred: *normal expression*  . . . Darn it. I was hoping no one would ask that.__


	4. Swordsman Who Walks The Trail of Blood

A/N: Hello! I'm baaack! Today's update is brought to you by . . . my update to my website! It's because every one or two chapters of this, I'm going to update something else. Anyway, here are the review responses!

&&&

EchoKazul -- Yes, he is just as clumsy as I, making at least as many mistakes. Anyway, I'm glad you found it creepy (that's what I was going for)! Anyway, the Tomegather**ic**on . . . it _might_ be and it might be not! You'll have to wait and see!

Guy: That's rather mean . . .

Yoshimi: *places hand on his shoulder* It's just a thing authors do. You'll get used to it as you get to know your place as a muse better.

Guy: What _is_ a muse, anyway?

Yoshimi: -_-; We need to work on you.

MercuryAdept -- Most of my chapters will be long, although that _was_ a rather long one. Then again, I didn't want to split the chapter up, since it all fit so nicely together in little chunks.

Alfred: *with feather duster in hand* Like this giant piece of mold I found under your bed. *holds up Giant Disgusting Thing* How long has it been since you've cleaned in there?

Yoshimi: It's marked here on my calendar! See! The Ides of May!

Alfred: So, since the Roman Occupation?

Yoshimi: Er, I suppose so . . .

Vyctori -- Uh, oh . . . Vyctori's on the warpath, it appears, and she's bringing Menardi with her! *to Alfred and Guy* Secure the premises!

Alfred: *holds up can of paint* But I just repainted the door! If I secure it now, it will smear!

Yoshimi: The one problem with having a muse obsessed with housework. . . . Anyway! I dislike flat villains. They make rotten paperweights. Now, Alex would make a _great_ paperweight or doorstop because he's so nice and round and fleshed out! I'm sure that Alex would be _thrilled_ to hear me say that! ^^; Ah, yes . . . good ol' plot purposes. Sort of like the stuff in Rant #1 in your Livejournal. Well, sometimes it's not always good to act on one's instincts. After all, if all of my instincts proved to be true, I'd be dead several times over. . . . And yes, of course I did well with the joke! It wouldn't be me if it wasn't silly! ^_^ Constructive criticism? *gets down on knees* YES! IT'S HERE! CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM! THANK YOU! *cheers*

Yugi the Other White Meat -- . . . Interesting title. You're . . . another reviewer? *tears of joy* I'm so _happy_! *melts into a small blob*

Alfred: *comes by with mop* Ugh . . . where did _this_ come from? *begins mopping up the Yoshimi Puddle of Joy*

Puddle of Joy:  . . . blurb.

Alfred: AUGH! It's . . . ALIVE! *flees*

Yoshimi: *reforms* And, if that hasn't _completely_ deterred you from reading further, thanks for reading and reviewing! Of course I'll treat Guy well! He's one of my favourites, maybe even my favourite! ^_^

&&&

YAY! ANOTHER REVIEWER! ^_^ Happy, happy . . .

Alfred: *comes in armed with the Mop of Destiny (see the webcomic Dub This! for details on where _this_ came from)* I shall defeat you, evil Blob! *waves it around* Where'd it go?

Yoshimi: ???

Alfred: I will not give up! I will defeat you, Blob! *noble pose*

Yoshimi: Okaaaaay. . . .

***

Inspirations:

_Rurouni Kenshin_: For the battle scene and for the Japanese outfit.

_InuYasha_: For the battle scene (InuYasha and Ruruouni Kenshin will provide most of my knowledge of fights . . . not exactly the best credentials).

Glossary:

_Cohort_: A division in the Tolbi army.

_Gomen nasai_: I'm very sorry (Japanese)

_Karma_: fate in Indian beliefs

Tolbi Imperial Army: An elite army that conquers new land for the Tolbi Empire. Also is used to help the Tolbi Border Sentries (a group of soldiers that guard the borders from key fortresses) and the Pax Tolbi Regulators (a group of soldiers that keep the law and ensure swift defeat of rebellion).

***

Chapter 3: Swordsman Who Walks The Trail Of Blood

If anyone had been at the outskirts of Dekha that evening, they might have seen a strange pair of travellers.

The boy, tapping the road in front of him with his staff, was in a brown robe that was much lighter than his nearly black hair. His hazel eyes were open, but they didn't react to anything, which was rather spooky at first. He carried a nearly empty bag over his shoulder, with the last of the five days of food supplies that had filled the majority of the sack.

The other one, though, drew the most attention. The girl may have been dressed in an ordinary green dress and sari, but she carried a sword openly, defying the woman's _caste_. The sword was unusual, too. It was unlike the swords carried by the Indran warriors. She appeared prepared for battle, anyway. Her black hair was tied back, as not to get in her way, and her bright green eyes flitted over the landscape, watching for any sign of danger. She, too, carried a pack, but hers was mostly full. Her spare hand was on the aforementioned sword.

Finally, after three days through the mountain and one climbing the Dekhan Plateau, they had reached their first stop on their journey.

"Huzzah!" Camellia exclaimed. "A soft bed for tonight and a warm fire."

Simon nodded, not saying anything as he concentrated on not tripping.

She looked ahead. Dekha was a medium sized town. To someone growing up in such a small village, it seemed enormous. Due to a combination of good trade and better farmland, it had grown to where it was today. Besides the economic benefits, it was also famous for its extensive temple to Fate.

As they passed through its streets, there were styles from both Indra and Angara due to the contact between the two continents, although the largest impact of Angara was the worship of Fate, whose worshippers were prevalent throughout the world. Camellia guided her friend through the streets to a promising looking inn, The Travelling Merchant.

"Let me see," Camellia said, looking at the sign. "It's only twelve coins! Hey, Simon, hand me twelve coins."

Simon took his entire money bag and tossed it over.

Camellia stared at the pitiful sack. "We only have twelve coins?" she asked, incredulous.

"Wait. There's an extra coin in there. Take it out before you pay for the room."

Camellia stared at Simon. Almost as if he had sensed the movement, he shrugged.

"I'm an apprentice, so I don't get very much money," he answered the silent question. "Then we managed to avoid all the monsters in the mountains. So, it's either food for the journey or a room. Your choice."

Camellia frowned, then grinned. "The temple of Fate, I'm sure, will have rooms for some poor travellers! Let's get a move on!" She tossed the bag at Simon.

He caught it, but he nearly lost his balance. After several near falls, he regained his balance with a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, Camellia then raced past him and unbalanced him. He dropped onto the road.

***

They reached the huge temple after buying more supplies. Camellia looked around at the huge stone walls surrounding the temple. There was little on the outside to decorate the grim building, aside from the purple banner that rustled over the huge double doors. 

Simon had the newly filled food sack, although it wasn't as full as when they had left. He was still a little dusty from his fall, but he knocked politely at the door with his staff anyway. He stepped back and stood there.

They waited for a while. Camellia's expression grew sourer and sourer as she waited. Finally, with a cry of annoyance, she grabbed the giant doorknocker with both hands and slammed it against the door with a resounding crash.

Within moments, a brown-bearded priest answered the door, rubbing his ears.

"Do you want to come in?" he asked, a little hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Maybe," Camellia replied.

Simon simply placed a hand to his face and sighed.

Camellia smiled. "We were wondering if we could stay the night," she said.

The priest snorted, turned, and walked away.

Camellia stared for a moment. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked the air.

The priest looked over his shoulder. "Come in. It's not like I can stop you." He shook his head and continued inside.

Camellia grinned. "Well, that takes care of that!" she said brightly. "Let's go find ourselves a room. C'mon, Simon. You're being rude." She started forward.

Simon looked surprised. "_I_'m being rude?"

Getting no answer, he followed the sound of her footsteps.

Camellia cast a critical eye on the stone hallway. All there was to decorate the walls was a few scattered blue banners with a strange symbol decorating them. She stopped once to examine it, but it seemed to almost shift as she tried to pin it down. Finally, she stopped looking at them. They were giving her a headache.

"Marlel, greetings!" a deep, friendly voice called from within. A large bushy brown head peered around the corner of the end of the hallway. "Who have you brought with you? Visitors? You, of all people, having visitors?"

The priest, apparently Marlel, turned to open a door on one side. Turning his head to view the man, he replied icily, "As you may recall, I never have visitors." He turned back to the door. "They can be yours. I take my leave." He walked out and shut the door lightly behind himself.

The man down the hallway just stepped away from the doorframe. "Don't let him bother you," he said cheerfully. "He's always like that. Come here."

The two children walked to the end of the hallway. Through the doorway, sunlight glittered through the trees of a courtyard. In the courtyard, several small wooden houses surrounded a larger wooden building.

Turning, they saw the man from the hallway. He wore the sky blue robes and medium light purple of a member of the priesthood. A smile was on his face and in his blue eyes. He was very tall and rather broad. His ancestry appeared to be mainly Angaran, much like Marlel. His nose was especially predominant.

"Welcome to the temple!" he called with a huge smile. "My name is Hal. What brings you here?"

Simon bowed his head respectfully. "We are travellers, and seek hospitality at your temple."

Hal continued to grin. "Travellers, eh? I'm sort of surprised Marlel didn't talk to you. Used to be a great traveller in his youth. You can stay at my place for the night. Let's get you settled in." He grabbed Simon's bag. "Here. Let me help with that."

He tossed it over his shoulder. Unfortunately, he didn't notice Simon still holding onto it by the string. Simon dangled for a moment, a look of shock on his face, but soon dropped to the ground.

Hal didn't even notice. "The place is nothing much, but it'll do," he commented. "I'm sure it will be better than camping outside. Let me take the other bag, too."

Camellia knew well enough to let go of the string as he took the bag. "So, do you live in one of the small buildings?" she asked.

"Sure do, little lady," he looked down. "Or, should I say, little warrior? Your sword seems unusual. Haven't seen the likes of that one for a dog's year. Anyway, here's my house."

The house was quite small, but, Camellia supposed, priests were expected to get along with very little. Its brown walls were spruced up with some of those headache-inducing blue banners. She shook her head as the symbols shifted ever so slightly under her gaze.

"Maura, we have visitors!" Hal called inside.

Camellia blinked in surprise. "I thought that priests weren't allowed to marry . . ." she started.

Hal laughed. "Well, bless my soul, I completely forgot to tell you about Maura! No, I'm Maura's guardian. She isn't even old enough to be married, and I, well," he said with a laugh. "I've seen better days."

"So, you're over the hill," Camellia summed up.

This caught Hal off balance for a moment, but he replied, "Well, yes, but I prefer my way of saying it." He clapped her on the shoulder (nearly knocking her down in the process) and walked inside.

As Camellia followed him inside, she noticed a girl who had to be Maura. She was the most unassuming girl Camellia had ever seen. Her brown hair, reaching barely past her shoulders, hung limply. Her face was so pale that her freckles stood out like spots of paint or something. She was rather thin, but the only way to accurately describe her figure was rectangular. She was also short, nearly a head shorter than Simon, who wasn't any giant himself. She was wearing a small version of the priest robes. Her grey eyes looked at them warily.

"These travellers are staying the night here," Hal told the girl. "One of them looks even around your age." He placed a hand on Simon's head and ruffled his hair. "You look about thirteen, don't you think?"

"Fourteen, sir," Simon corrected.

"Close enough." Completely unperturbed, he continued, "So, could you get some extra sheets for the guest room?"

Maura nodded, coughed, and walked further inside.

"The guest room?" Camellia asked.

"You're in it." Hal gestured to the room, empty of anything except a chest, a table, and some chairs. "The only other two rooms are my room and Maura's room. And you," he said, smiling and pointing at Simon, "are not bunking with Maura."

Cue blush.

Hal laughed. "I'm only joking with you. Of course, I'm still serious about that last thing!"

"Is she your daughter?" Camellia asked.

"Not technically," Hal replied, suddenly serious. "She's always been sickly, even as a baby. Her parents didn't want to bother raising her, so they abandoned her. Luckily, I was able to find her. I used to survive day-to-day with any odd jobs I could, but in order to help support her, I took the steadier occupation of a priest. It suits me fine, too."

Camellia looked around the "guest room." After a moment, she sat on the table and commented, "I get the top bunk."

Hal roared with laughter, the seriousness evaporating. "Let me give you a tour of the temple. Maura, would you like to come?" he asked as Maura came in with the bundle of blankets.

She nodded, and he picked her up and placed her on his shoulder. "Race you to the main temple building!" he called to the travellers, running. Maura laughed as Hal propelled himself expertly.

Camellia smiled broadly and launched herself after them. They raced onward, Hal's giant steps eating up the ground as fast as Camellia's practiced run.

"Wait!" Simon called, tapping the ground in front of himself with his staff. "Oh dear." He walked after them.

***

Camellia dived around the priest to place her hand on the door of the temple at the same moment and Hal was able to.

"It appears this has been a tie!" Hal remarked. He glanced back, and commented, "Your friend doesn't appear to be making very good time."

"Well, er, he's blind," Camellia said uncomfortably.

"Ah," Hal said, setting Maura down. "We'll just wait for him, then."

Maura watched Simon for a moment, and then ran over. "Let me help!" she told Simon. 

She grabbed his hand and pulled as she ran back. Simon smiled and ran too, although he had to work hard to keep up. They arrived, although not as fast as the other two had.

"That's my girl!" Hal said, smiling. "The dust cloud from your running was a sight to see!"

Camellia smiled but said nothing, knowing that there hadn't been any dust cloud.

Maura began to say something, but she then started coughing.

Hal frowned in concern. "Are you all right? Did you overexert yourself?"

She swallowed her coughing fit. "I'm fine, Daddy," she said hoarsely, coughing once. "You worry too much."

Hal smiled again. "You're a brave one," he remarked quietly.

He straightened and opened the wooden door. The inside was disappointingly simple. A normal shrine dedicated to Fate and a priest who was wandering around.

"Is this . . . it?" Camellia asked.

Hal laughed. "No, of course not! This is just the outer part. We don't need too much for what most people are looking for. In here," he continued, opening a door, "is something much more interesting."

"Mm," a voice commented. "But you always mix the things up."

Camellia turned and saw the priest from earlier. He was smiling slightly.

"Marlel! Just who I wanted to see!" Hal called.

"The feeling is not completely mutual," Marlel replied quietly, still with the enigmatic smile.

Hal didn't seem to notice the last comment, entering and beckoning for the others to follow. Maura helped Simon into the room behind Camellia and Marlel brought up the rear.

Hal stood in front of three stone cubes, their sides a brickwork of grey stones, their tops covered in blue cloth. "Here is where there are real wonders," he exclaimed. He pointed at the first table. On top of it was a sword, finer than any sword Camellia had ever seen. "This one's called Phaeton's Blade. Can't for the life of me remember why."

Marlel smiled faintly. "It is a good thing I am here, then." He walked up and picked it up. "This sword was forged several hundred years ago. No one knows who first forged it, but someone, Phaeton, during the dark age gained it. Much of the story has been lost, but it is apparent that he used the magic of the sword . . ."

"Whoa, hold a moment!" Camellia exclaimed. "What's this about the magic of the sword?"

Marlel turned his back to them. "Weapons of high calibre are sometimes imbued with powers. Some unleash magical creatures, some raging fires, some crashing seas. These last only a moment, but they all increase the power of the attack."

Camellia looked at the ceiling. A sword with its own magic! Now _that_ would be amazing, not to mention powerful!

Almost as if he had sensed her thoughts, he continued, "But such powers do not come without price. They require a special . . . something to unleash their might. It varies from person to person, sometimes weapon to weapon. If they lack in it, then their _karma_ is the same as it was for Phaeton. Death." Marlel looked over his shoulder at the group. "He used it too often. One day, he attempted to unleash its spell. It consumed him completely." Looking forward again, he placed the sword back on the pedestal. "Because of that, his friends, scared by the display of power, donated it to the temple, in hopes that others wouldn't suffer the same fate."

Hal nodded. "It seems to have worked, hasn't it?" he commented. "The next treasure is a book . . . what does it do again, Marlel?"

Marlel sighed. "It's a good thing I decided to come help." He walked over and reached out towards the book.

Suddenly, Camellia noted a silver line flash across the doorway. She turned as the door dropped in two pieces, revealing a tall man who was sheathing his sword. His black hair, cropped short, fell over his ears a little. He was clean-shaven and slanted brown eyes peered out sharply under thin brows. He looked about in his twenties. He was dressed in some kind of foreign clothing. An open green shirt, tucked into the wide white pants, revealed strips of white bandage around his torso. He wore a sword at both sides, the same shape as Camellia's own.

The man bowed politely. "I apologise profusely for interrupting," he said in a warm voice. "But I must admit that I couldn't help but hear a certain name. Tell, would your name be Marlel Gregoire, once Clarus Lumen, Third Cohort of the Tolbi Imperial Legions, about, oh, about a decade past?"

Marlel's eyes narrowed. "How did you come by that information?" he asked coldly.

"That is not important. Is it true?" the man pressed, voice still pleasant.

"Yes," Marlel ground.

The man clapped his hands together. "Good!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Then I do not have to go searching for you."

"What is it that you want with me?" Marlel asked frostily.

The man didn't seem to hear. He was looking at his outfit. "Unfortunate, though. This outfit will be stained. Oh well. It can't be helped."

"What?" Camellia asked.

The man sighed. "It's just that this outfit will pick up the bloodstains when I kill him."

"_What?_" the entire group asked in horror.

The man shut his eyes and shook his head. "It's unfortunate, but necessary."

He began to walk towards Marlel, but Camellia stepped in between.

He looked down slightly at her. "Hm? Who are you?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Camellia replied angrily.

The man placed a hand to his forehead. "Of course! Where are my manners?" he berated himself. "We haven't been properly introduced! If I hadn't been so surprised, I would have remembered myself. Well, I'll start, but I can't give my actual name. That would be foolish. However, I've picked up a name. _Shi Maido_. I guess it comes from my reputation." He looked around at their faces, then placed the hand to his forehead again. "How thoughtless of me! You are not fluent speakers of Izumo's language. It means 'death every time.'"

Marlel frowned. "So, you are a serial killer."

Shi Maido nodded. "Something of the like. Four thousand, eight hundred, and sixty-seven people survived the Battle of Idijima. Since then, ten people died natural deaths. In the past several months, seventy ended their lives in violence, at the end of my blade. Now," he said, not so cheerful anymore. "You will be the seventy-first." He placed a hand on the sword on his left hip.

Camellia did the same, glaring at him.

Shi Maido frowned slightly. "I am afraid you are in my way," he said mildly.

"You aren't getting past me!" Camellia replied angrily.

"Very well," Shi Maido took his hand off the sword and used his left hand to draw the sword on his right. He tossed it to his right hand. He tapped the edge with his left. "Good. Here is my blunt sword. Now neither of us need get injured." He adjusted his feet and held the sword in an expert grip.

Camellia drew her sword quickly, its bright surface flashing.

Shi Maido's eyebrows raised, and for the first time looked surprised. "That blade . . . ."

Camellia attacked without warning. Suddenly, the entire sword glowed green. She slashed horizontally, face registering surprise.

Shi Maido's sword was sheared off at the hilt. Only a swift dodge saved him from death. He jumped backwards, smiling.

"Well, now," Shi Maido said, genuinely pleased. "That sword is of elven make."

"Elven?"

"Yes. During the last Golden Age, the race of elves existed. They disappeared during the Dark Age, but they left behind several artefacts. They created few swords, but the ones they created are beyond compare to the swords used by most. They used the Izumo sword design and a metal they alone knew how to forge. Not as strong as mithril, but nowhere near as rare. Most people referred to it as steel. Also, they placed spells in them, most like the one you just used." He nodded at it. "There are few in the world. What a coincidence that there should be two in this very room." He drew his left sword. It shone much brighter than the blunted iron sword he had used before. It had obviously been cared for well, judging from the sheen and sharpness of the edge. "Let us continue from where we left off."

He bowed. Camellia, feeling honour unnecessary against a murderer, attacked his bare neck. It a move so fast she was unable to follow it, he blocked it and slid it underneath. She could never have blocked it or even dodged it, but he twisted the sword only centimetres away from her flesh. He sidestepped the attack she sent after and brought his sword down upon hers even though the attack had left her entire side exposed. She realized that, despite his murderous intent towards Marlel, he didn't want to kill her. She took advantage of this in a move that left her entire right side defenceless to the blade that was snaking around, seeking her weapon, but allowed her to attack his back.

A sharp pain rammed into her side, sending her flying into the wall. As she rose, she heard Maura explaining to Simon that he had rammed his elbow into her side. She brought her sword up in a defensive position, readying for his next attack.

He brought his sword over his head. Not wondering why he would use such an amateur move, she dived, sword extended. He jumped over her blade and brought his hand down on her back, forcing her painfully to the floor. He didn't take advantage of her prone position, instead standing back, honourably waiting for her to rise.

She wondered briefly if she had once again challenged someone more skilled than her. She rose, taking her time, seeing how he was going to conduct this match in the manner of a duel between two nobles who had no ill will. She took up her stance again. He bowed, faster this time, and also prepared himself.

Her only chance was to try to unleash that spell she had. What was it that she had done? She struck, not producing any light but that which reflected off the blade when the wind stirred the curtains away from the window above them. He blocked and forced her back. She let him, knowing she would only lose her sword if she stood her ground. She struck again, and a small green glimmer raced up and down the blade. Shi Maido looked interested at this, but still blocked and backed her up with the same brisk efficiency. His eyes seemed to be everywhere at once, but still were nearly still.

There had been something when she had struck that time. If she concentrated on it . . . .

Something clicked in her mind. She struck out, her sword shining a bright green, lighting up the dim chamber. It hit the other's sword, drawing sparks. The sparks appeared red . . . .

She backed up a step. His sword was also glowing, a bright red. She had forgotten his sword was also an elven sword. He looked at her sadly and struck.

The blow jarred the sword from her hand and threw her backwards against the wall. Red glinted in her eyes as she felt her body crash against the wood again. She saw her sword sheathe skitter across the floor at the impact.

Looking up, she was just in time to see Shi Maido catch her sword in midair. She slumped against the wall, knowing that she was defeated.

Shi Maido kneeled down. "I hope you aren't seriously hurt."

She just snatched at her sword. He avoided her swing.

"If your pride has been hurt, then do not worry. I see talent in you. I have only trained longer," he explained. "Your talent is wasted without any training. If I meet a good swordspersonship teacher, I will let them know about you." He straightened. "Unfortunately, I have a less enjoyable task at the moment."

He brought his sword around and pointed it at Marlel.

"_Gomen nasai_," he murmured.

He was preparing the sword strike when a crash and a scream were heard outside.

***

Yoshimi: ^_^ Cliffhanger!

Alfred: *dusting* You're going to get killed if this keeps up.

Yoshimi: Well, if that happens, that happens! I think I'll just keep my mind off that with a little _Rurouni Kenshin_! *begins to watch anime*

Guy: *wanders in* What are you doing?

Yoshimi: Watching an anime.

Kenshin (on screen): Ryu-son-sen! *does fancy sword attack*

Guy: *jaw drops* WOW! How did he do that?

Kenshin (on screen): Ryu-tsui-sen! *another fancy sword attack*

Guy: *starry-eyed* I think I've found my hero!

Yoshimi: Ironic. A clumsy swordsman hero-worshipping another clumsy swordsman.

Alfred: Yes. Anyway, review, because Vyctori is threatening to send Menardi to do the review-threats! Right, Yoshimi? . . . Yoshimi?

Yoshimi: *hiding behind chair* I'm a good boy, don't kill me, I'm being good . . .


	5. The Reaper's Call

EDIT: As Fanfiction.net messed up, I have replaced all asterisks with addition signs, but those don't work either, so I'm trying underscores, which don't work either, so it's up to "-"s.

Hello! Sorry for the hold-up in updates. I was _meaning_ to update, but then I would get distracted and . . . OOOH! SHINY! (Cookies to whoever discovers where I got that from [hint: it's a webcomic])

&&&

EchoKazul -- I'm glad that you like how I wrote Camellia. Fate knows that I have trouble a lot when she comes up to a situation she isn't prepared for. Takes a bit of thinking to get her out, I can tell you. MWAHAHA! Yes, fear mortal, a CLIFFHANGER! Ahem. I'm probably going to do a lot of those in this fic.

MercuryAdept -- GAAAH! I CREATED A MINI! -bangs head against the wall- Ow.

The Faction's Lord -- Thank you! A new reviewer—HOORAY!!!!! -gets struck by punctuation storm-

Alfred: -sweeps up punctuation-

The Mysterious Al -- Message received, but since you didn't actually review this fanfiction, I'm going to delete your review. An update to Weyard Weekly is the next thing on my fanfiction to-do list. I've already got it started, in fact.

Vyctori -- YES! FEAR THE CLIFFIE! -cough- Continuing on. . . . The blindness is most difficult, I admit. Several times, I'll have to rewrite a "Simon looked" or whatever. Simon and Camellia _are_ very amusing to write as well. You caught the meaning behind the nose comment. I'd say she's more blunt than honest, really. Rectangular wasn't meant to be literal--it was to describe that she had absolutely no curve to her figure at all. Yes! I adore making odd characters! It makes it easy to have humour! Soon, I'm going to have to edit the things being pointed out by my reviewers.

&&&

Okay, here's my attempt at being angsty, so be prepared. I haven't had much practice at it, but . . . here it is. Constructive criticism is _always_ welcome.

Chapter 4: The Reaper's Call

-_san_: Respectful title (Mr.)

_Gambatte_: Press onward (fig. Good luck)

Everyone's head turned towards the sound. Even Simon, out of habit, and Shi Maido, although the latter kept one eye on Marlel, looked through the broken door.

In the outer sanctuary, a swordsman, dressed in the Tolbi style, wiped off his short sword on the body of one of the priests. The priest was still alive, but the wound, if untreated, would cause a slow and very painful death. The door, sliced roughly in two showed at least three others outside.

The swordsman in front looked scornfully at the four priests who had backed towards the wall. He didn't even glance at the fifth, who had picked up a pole and was holding it in a swordsman's stance. After seeing the battle between Camellia and Shi Maido, Maura knew that he wasn't up to either of their standards, but appeared to have some experience.

"Now," the Tolbian pondered out loud, blue eyes flitting from one priest to the next. "Who will die first? Decisions, decisions, decisions . . . ."

The priest with the long wooden pole grunted slightly and drew himself up to attack. His feet prepared to launch him to almost certain death.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. The priest looked up into the brown eyes of Shi Maido. He smiled at the priest.

"Foolish to go against real swords with only a stick," he commented lightly, reaching into his shirt. "What is your name?"

"Frederick," the man said warily.

"Fredrick-_san_," Shi repeated. "I would rather you didn't kill yourself. Take this."

From the depths of his shirt, he withdrew a sheathed sword. He handed it to Frederick, whispering in his ear, "If you will give me a moment to prepare, I will help. Two swords are better than one." He straightened and turned to Camellia, not even bothering to look at the swordsman, who was paying full attention to taunting the prisoners.

Shi stooped and picked up Camellia's sheath. "I believe," he remarked, sheathing Camellia's sword with a snap. "That this is yours. May I ask the name of my former opponent?" He handed the sword to Camellia.

Camellia stared for a moment, but then took the sword. "Camellia," she replied, a little stunned. Maura didn't blame her for being stunned.

"Well, Camellia-_kun_, it appears we will have to join forces for the moment," Shi told her. "The same applies to Marlel-_san_. I'm sure your swordsmanship from your days in the Tolbi army haven't diminished _too_ much." He reached down the back of his shirt and produced another sword. He tossed it to Marlel, who caught it. "Please don't do anything hasty with this," Shi informed him. "Or I will be forced to do something we will both regret."

He surveyed the room.

"Now," he said brightly. "I believe everyone is prepared. Keep together, everyone."

With that, he strode into the outer sanctuary.

Outside, the swordsman flicked back his black hair, looking grimly at the four priests. His face was twisted upwards in a smirk, apparently having just finished a taunt. He looked on for a moment longer, savouring the expressions of fear on his victims' faces.

"I hope you've finished your prayers," he said scornfully. "Because now you are going to die. I hope this shows that Fate doesn't answer the prayers of even a single one of his--" He made a noise of surprise as the sword sheathe of Shi Maido pressed itself against the back of his neck.

"I do not believe in the slaughter of innocents." Shi Maido seemed not to notice the disbelief clearly stamped on Marlel's expression and the shock displayed on most of the others. "Please, leave this area. I would prefer not to kill you, if it is possible, and I have lost all but the deadliest of my weapons."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen." Maura, peeking out of the inner sanctuary, viewed the four men who had entered. Two were clearly of Tolbi and one appeared to be from the islands that dotted one side of the Karagol Sea, but the other was surprising to anyone who could identify the barbarians from beyond the barriers of Tolbi's empire. Having both groups working together was unheard of.

A smile tugged at the corner of Shi Maido's lips. "It is not? May I ask why?"

The Tolbian who had spoken drew his sword. "Because you're gonna _die_!" He raised his sword and brought it down.

Shi Maido was apparently ready for this. He took two steps forward to avoid the swing, driving his sheath forward to hit the wall in between two of the priests. The unfortunate swordsman was caught in between it and the wall. His windpipe crushed, he slid down the wall as Shi Maido stepped backwards and circled around, releasing the sword from its sheath with a fluid movement, born from long practice. As his body swirled, the opposite hand caught the sheath. He slashed across the four swordsmen who had yet to react to Shi Maido's fast movement. The blade cut the muscles in the shoulders of the first man, who had brought his entire body with the downward attack. Before he even cried out, the sword had slashed across the stomach of the second Tolbian and skittered across the breastplate of the Karagol islander. Shi Maido stepped backwards and placed his sword swiftly into a defensive position and blinked.

It was if that blink had released them all from a spell. All at once, they began to move again. The first dropped his sword and stumbled backwards, clutching his bleeding arms. Marlel, sword drawn, cut him down in a single stroke as he attempted to flee. The second made a noise as the air blew out of his lungs and toppled forward, blood spewing from the open wound. The third seemed almost frozen, looking at his dead partners and at the wicked looking scratch left in the metal.

The barbarian, blond hair waving about his shoulders, reacted first. He ran at Shi Maido, roaring a battle cry. Shi Maido glanced quickly at him and looked for a moment at the Karagolan before twisting around and striking horizontally. The warrior blocked with a shield, but the steel ripped through the wood, splintering the shield and leaving a long cut on his arm. The man stumbled and fell forward. Shi Maido grabbed his neck when he was passing and shoved him into the floor, cracking the floorboards in the process. The man grunted as he hit the ground. He had been unprepared for the fall and had landed on his sword, giving himself a fatal wound. Shi Maido didn't bother to look longer than was necessary to assess that the warrior would be no worry.

The Karagolan grabbed his long spear firmly and thrust it at him, but Shi Maido jumped over it almost before the soldier had thrust at him. He flipped the sword and cut behind his back, taking off the deadly spike at the top of the spear. Skidding slightly on the smooth floor, he jumped at the soldier, left side open. The soldier took the bait, swinging the remaining part of the spear at the open side. Shi Maido, obviously prepared for such an attempt, sliced across and cut the pole in two. He reversed the blade and the swing, cutting again across the pole and hit just between the breastplate and helmet, slicing the straps of the helmet in the process, seeking the throat. The Karagolan was dead almost before he hit the floor. His loosened helmet rolled across the floor to rest at the feet of his killer, who was sheathing his sword.

As the sounds of the dying barbarian fell away, there was silence in the room, as everyone inside stared at the swordsman who had so calmly slain five warriors in shorter time than five ordinary swordsmen could do working together.

Shi Maido looked at them. "Shouldn't someone look at the injured priest?" he said questioningly, as if nothing unusual had happened.

This released everyone from their paralysis.

"Maura, get me to the invalid, please," Simon requested, patting his pockets and producing a roll of cloth bandages.

She grabbed his hand and guided him around the dead bodies, feeling dizzy. She was dimly aware that Shi Maido was instructing the swordspeople to follow him and that the four left the room. She saw Simon's lips moving, but couldn't hear his voice.

She noticed more clearly Simon's reaction to being vomited on.

---

Camellia followed Shi Maido outside and froze when she saw what was outside.

The houses were on fire, and at least a dozen swordsmen were chasing down the priests that were in her view. She watched as the people of the temple were cut down mercilessly. Down the stone hallway that led to the outside, she saw the town's militia trying to enter the temple, but were being held back by a small group of barbarian warriors.

Shi Maido, apparently used to carnage, stepped forward and drew his sword. He slew the nearest swordsman. "Stay together, and no heroics," Shi Maido told them calmly as he killed another man.

Camellia shook herself and drew her sword. She heard orders being called. She looked for their source.

"To your right!" Marlel yelled.

Automatically, she blocked, and barely missed dying by the short sword of the tall, raven-haired Tolbi soldier who had chosen to attack her. It appeared that the order was to kill the swordspeople, and he had chosen her because he believed that, as a woman, she would be the weaker.

She grinned. People like him always made things easier for her. She blocked and backed up, letting his confidence grow. She made it appear she was struggling, when in fact she was surprised that such a weak fighter had made it here. She supposed it was because they weren't expecting any resistance from priests, so that's why he was here.

She glanced over her shoulder. Most unfortunately, another opponent was approaching, so she'd have to finish this quickly. This time, instead of blocking, she slid to the side. Her opponent was overbalanced by his own swing and fell on the ground. He attempted to scramble up, but she struck his hand with her hilt. He yelled and dropped his sword. She kicked it away and brought her sword up for the kill.

A force hit her side, causing her to fall and slide across the ground, raising dust. She scrambled quickly to her feet to see Shi Maido fastidiously wiping his bloody sword off with a cloth. Her opponent lay dead at his feet.

He smiled at her once he saw that she was standing. "I am most sorry for that, Camellia-_kun_," he said, nodding at her. "But I would rather you need not experience the feeling of blood on your hands." His eyes went hard for a moment as a serious expression rested on his normally cheerful face. "I assure you, it is not a pleasant feeling." He smiled at her again, thrust the cloth into his shirt, and attacked an approaching warrior.

Camellia, after a moment of surprise, engaged another opponent. She found things beginning to repeat themselves. Every time she attempted to give a killing blow, Shi Maido would block her sword or push her out of the way and strike down her opponent. Once, too, when she had left her side open, Shi Maido was there in moments, finishing the mercenary who threatened her. She was beginning to wonder if he thought her unfit for the task.

After several more minutes of fighting, the priest, Fredrick, relaxed and put his sword down. "I think we have finished them," he smiled.

His expression quickly changed to one of shock when he felt cold iron pressed against his neck.

---

Maura watched as Simon's hands glowed a continual blue as he knelt over the wounded man. It felt like it had been ten minutes, although she knew it couldn't really have been more than just one.

Finally, he stopped casting Ply. "He should be fine, as long as he is kept from moving for too long." He was breathing quickly and sounded out of breath.

Simon started to stand, but collapsed. One of the priests caught him and helped him over to a bench at the side.

"I'm fine," he assured them, still out of breath. "I just . . . haven't tried to heal someone that close to death . . . before."

Hal came out of the inner sanctuary, holding the book and sheathed sword that they had seen in there. When one of the priests protested, Hal shook his head. "If the battle goes ill, we must get these to safety."

The priests looked at each other, and after a moment, agreed.

One of the priests frowned suddenly. "Be ready to get those things out of here as soon as possible."

"Gregory?" another priest asked in surprise.

Gregory took a deep breath and stepped to one side. Within seconds, a sword protruded from him. The sword went straight through and stopped, just centimetres from Simon, who was still sitting against the wall. As the sword was withdrawn, he fell forward, and Hal caught him. Maura looked at the break in the wall now filled with soldiers. One of them looked angrily at the fallen man.

Gregory looked weakly up at Hal. "You know how . . . I complained that Jupiter powers would not let me change the future, only predict it?" He coughed and sucked in air painfully. "Well, I finally had the courage to change things . . . for the better." His body went limp in Hal's arms, a pained smile on his lips.

"Old fool," his killer muttered. "We were so close to killing the boy . . . so close. It don't matter. All he did was speed up his own death and slow the death of this 'un. It doesn't matter, anyway, if we kill the priests fast enough that 'e can't 'eal 'em!" He raised his head and looked back, a savage grin lighting his face. "All right, boys, kill 'em! Kill 'em all! There should be even more through _that_ door!" He pointed with his sword at a door that led to the living chambers of the more important priests.

"No! You fiends!" Another priest launched himself at the Tolbian who was about to open the door. Regaining his balance, the man shoved the priest off him and ran him through.

Hal watched, horrified, as a soldier killed yet another of the priests in the room. There was now only him, another priest, the boy, and . . . . A shiver went up his spine. And Maura. There was no reason to believe that they would spare women or children. If he weren't so helpless . . . .

His hand brushed the sword he had placed under his arm for safekeeping. Phaeton's Blade . . . as he well knew, it was quite possibly fatal to use. People were said to even get burned from just touching the hilt. He had never attempted it before. Now, however, he didn't care about anything but protecting Maura.

"All right," he shouted as he held the sheath in his left hand. "Playtime is _over_!"

With his right, he drew the sword. It shone white, brightening the dark corners of the windowless room. All but one of the torches flickered and died, leaving the sword's unnatural light being the only thing lighting the darkened room, save the sunlight from the door in the room, viewable through the breach in the wall.

This had a most desirable effect on the attackers. Most of them stumbled and tried to block the light with an arm. All except Gregory's killer looked terrified. Gregory's killer looked stunned, but he also looked intrigued.

"Now, _there_'s a fine piece of workmanship," he commented, recovering quickly from the shock. "Now, lessee which would win. A good sword and no swordsmanship, or," he smiled nastily while settling himself into a ready position, "a normal sword and superior swordsmanship. Come, let us fight."

---

"Very interesting," the voice behind Fredrick did sound intrigued, if rather unconcerned about the dagger pressed against the young priest's throat. "This was most unexpected. Of course, this would be why the diversion was made of such inexperienced men."

"Diversion?" Camellia asked.

"Oh yes." The man was still hidden in the shade cast by the main temple, but Camellia could see he taller than Shi Maido. "How stupid of me. I forgot to mention the group who have broken into the main sanctum and have probably already slaughtered half of the higher-ranking priests."

Marlel gasped slightly and made a move to go back inside.

"Don't move," the man instructed harshly. "One false move and this one dies." He drew a small line on the priest's throat to emphasize his point. Fredrick whimpered softly. "Drop your weapons, all of you."

Shi Maido dropped his sword immediately. Slowly, reluctantly, the other two placed their swords carefully on the ground.

"Very good." Camellia saw the shadow of his head move. He nodded at a Tolbian soldier. "You, pick up their weapons."

The soldier picked up the swords obediently, nodding almost apologetically at them.

"Please be careful with my sword. It is of very good quality," Shi Maido told him politely, somehow still relaxed.

"Thank you, soldier," the man told him. "Now, to take care of you."

The man, in a quick motion, slit Fredrick's throat. Camellia gasped in shock, her hands automatically reaching for her empty sheath.

"Fools." The man stepped out into the light. "Never trust an adversary. Never trust a stranger. Never trust a friend." His black hair and dark eyes were now discernable. His Tolbian armour glittered in the sun. His clothing was finer than the others and his armour suggested rank. "That is what I have learned after so many years with this group. No one can be trusted. Love will only harm. People look out only for themselves. That is the truth of the world. I have learned it, so I have risen far. That," he remarked, drawing a sword, "and my skill. I am known as the Merciless, but I prefer to be known as the Bringer of Truth." He held his sword in front of him. "It is unfortunate that you learned the truth too late. Now, learn the truth of death."

He raised his sword. His eyes displayed no emotion as he walked towards Camellia.

"It is but the truth," he said coldly.

He brought the blade down in a deadly stroke.

---

The swordsman placed his blade and settled his feet.

"I may only be a decurion in the army now," he said. "But should I win tha' sword from you, then the group may pull a few strings, an' ya never know where I may be when you look t' Wey'rd from Tar'trus."

He brought his sword around and aimed directly for Phaeton's Blade, obviously teasing Hal. Hal tried to attack, but it was repelled, and only luck made sure he didn't die. He was obviously going to lose, unless he was able to take the power of the sword and use it. Even at the cost of his own life.

"Wasa matter?" the soldier taunted. "The legendary sword is working . . . for . . . ." His voice died away quickly.

The sword was now glowing a searing white light. Hal's hands were also glowing a slightly less bright that diminished as it moved down his wrists and starting into his arms. He swung it at his opponent.

The young Tolbian screamed as a blinding white rush of power struck him and threw him across the room onto the wall. Thin white streams of light struck him, growing wider as his screams grew fainter and fainter, until they died completely. Moments after, the light vanished. The body slid down the wall, his limbs stuck at odd angles, a trickle of blood running from his mouth.

Hal attempted to put the sword away, but it would have none of it. As the light trickled down his arms, the sword pulsed brighter and brighter until it flew to all corners of the room. The dozen men who had broken in and the remaining priest were all lashed by the streamers that emanated from the sword. Their limbs stretched, trying to escape the restraints of their bodies. The light threatened to tear them apart. When the light disappeared from their bodies, their corpses dropped, splattering blood on the floor from where their skin had refused to hold.

Maura had seen the streamer approach her and attempted to dive out of the way, but her arm was caught by the light. She yelled as her body was engulfed by the hungry energy that tried to rend her in two. She struggled against it, but to no avail.

Suddenly, she felt the pain lessen slightly. Simon had risen unsteadily to his feet, still not recovered from his draining use of Psynergy, his hands glowing.

"Ply. _Ply_," he hissed desperately, but the light refused to let go of its newfound home. He struggled against it, its power greater than any disease he had faced before. He growled in concentration, and then raised his hand high. "_Ply Well!_"

A line of blue light connected his raised hand to Maura. Her body shed the light as she dropped slowly to the ground. She had sustained a deep cut on her arm, but was otherwise none the worse for wear. She looked at Simon thankfully. He smiled, but was now swaying from exhaustion. She got up, intending to help steady him.

A bellow of pain, arising from a steady growl that had been growing since the first attack, distracted them. Maura looked over. Hal was now completely glowing, and in obvious pain. His whole body shook.

Suddenly, the sword's light died. It skittered across the floor as Hal's hand finally let go. Hal fell, crashing to the floor, no longer making any noise.

---

Camellia was about to dodge it when another sword raced up to intercept it. Her attacker reacted as fast as she had seen Shi Maido do in battle, taking up his sword's sheath and spinning it. It absorbed most of the damage from Shi Maido's second sword. It fell to the ground in pieces. Both swordsmen jumped backwards, and Camellia dodged back to a safer positon.

"You will not bloody your hands any more," Shi Maido said when he had landed. Camellia nearly stared. She had never heard him, or anyone else, speak so coldly to another. "You already have caused more suffering than you could ever realize."

"Swords in your sleeves, mm?" the Bringer of Truth murmured. "I made a grave error. That is the truth." He nodded at the much smaller swords that Shi Maido had taken out of his sleeves. "If I have been watching carefully enough, that makes one blunt iron sword, an elven weapon, two Izumo iron swords, and now two shorter ones. Pray tell, where did you find them all?"

"It is none of your concern, _Claudius Perfidus_," Shi Maido replied, still just as cold.

Claudius's eyes widened. "Who are-- How did you-- This is none of your affair, peasant!" he growled. "What are your concerns with _me_, insolent dog?"

Shi Maido's eyes narrowed into slits. "You do not even deserve to know that. I will tell your body once I kill you." He glared at the Tolbian. "As you once killed my joy," he said quietly, almost to himself.

The Bringer of Truth matched him with a chilling stare of his own. "Die, and learn the truth of it." He brought a small round shield from where it was hanging on his back to his hand.

"_Shinu_," Shi Maido hissed.

Shi Maido launched his attack with lightning speed. His swords aimed for different parts of his enemy's body, his left heading towards the thigh, his right cutting at the side. Before Camellia could even register this, Claudius had blocked with both his sword and his shield.

"Too slow," he hissed and pushed both swords away and brought his straight towards his opponent's chest.

Shi Maido's swords were already there, blocking and returning with a blow that didn't allow Camellia to even see the blade. The Bringer of Truth still managed to block it and disengaged, sword at the ready.

They stared at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Shi Maido's eyes flicked to one side and back for a fraction of a second. A moment later, he leaped sideways and gave a twirling kick to the face of the man holding their weapons. He sheathed his swords in an eye blink, and was out of the way, holding the sword, before Claudius's sword struck. He hit his own soldier in the shoulder, severely, although not fatally, wounding him. Shi Maido was back in position even before the Bringer of Truth could even yank his sword out. The Izumo swordsman attacked, but Claudius was able to spin and block it with his shield.

"Do you think Shi Maido can win?" Camellia whispered to Marlel as the two swordsmen began a furious block and parry routine.

"I have no idea," Marlel answered honestly. "They appear nearly equal in skill, but I believe Shi has a very slight advantage at the moment."

At this point, Shi Maido had launched another attack that was blocked by the shield. This time, however, Claudius twisted his shield, trapping Shi Maido's sword in its wood. He attacked with his sword and, unwilling to let go of the elven sword, Shi Maido dodged, one hand still on the sword. He continued to duck and manoeuvre as Claudius's sword whisked around. He lost a few hairs and several slashes in his shirt showed places where he had escaped a deadly blow by centimetres. Finally, Shi Maido kicked out at his opponent's sword arm, delaying the next attack. He shattered the shield with a move and disengaged.

The Bringer of Truth smiled. "It appears we are equals in swordsmanship. That is the truth. However, there is more than one way to fight a battle. You are not gifted with Psynergy. You have a disadvantage, therefore. That is the truth. Learn this truth as you lose your life."

His raised left hand twitched, glowing purple. The glow intensified and then disappeared.

For a moment, Camellia thought nothing had happened, but then she glanced at Shi Maido. He was glowing the same purple and wasn't moving at all.

The Bringer of Truth laughed. "None, unless skilled in Psynergy, have escaped my spell of immobilization. That is the truth. I could kill you now, but I would much prefer if I let you watch as your friends die because of your inability to kill me."

He walked over to Camellia and Marlel, who were looking for a way out. Unfortunately, they were trapped in the middle of a circle of soldiers and hardened mercenaries.

"Never trust an enemy."

He smiled, but that smile did not reach his eyes.

"Never trust a stranger."

The sun glinted off the longsword that he held with such confidence. The crossbar on the hilt was stained red, as were the splotches that ran along the leather wrapping the hilt.

"Never trust a friend."

He waved a hand at the frozen Shi Maido. Shi Maido's face was a mask of concentration.

"That," Claudius remarked, levelling his blade, "is the truth."

"_Iie!_" a voice cried.

"What?" Claudius cried, barely blocking the swift strike from Shi Maido. He stared, disbelieving, at the man and at the spell that lay shattered at his feet. "How did you break my spell? I _will_ know the truth!"

Shi Maido made no reply as he prepared his blade.

Claudius was about to attack when he cocked his head, as if listening. "Hmm? . . . Fine. If that is your will." He looked back at them, sheathing his sword with a confident smile. "Most unfortunately, I am not allowed to finish you. This is no longer my affair. That is the truth. Attention!" he said, addressing the soldiers. "A retreat has been ordered. That is the truth, and it is her will!"

In a flash, he vanished.

The soldiers looked at each other in alarm and began to flee. They were met by the ragged remainder of the town militia, which had been aided when Shi Maido struck down any stragglers from the barbarians holding them back.

"Marlel-_san_," Shi Maido instructed. "Please help the militia. Despite the inability of these ones, they may benefit from your help."

He walked over to the fallen man, who was still clutching their swords, and picked up the one he had given Marlel and Camellia's sword. He handed the iron blade over to Marlel. Marlel nodded and ran over to the militia, who were doing very well.

Camellia tried to join him, but Shi Maido placed a hand on her shoulder.

"We cannot forget the soldiers inside the temple, Camellia-_kun_," he reminded her. "Come. We will be needed."

He walked swiftly over and opened the door to the inner sanctuary.

---

Maura tried to say something, but nothing would come out. She ran over to her adopted father.

She grabbed the front of his robe. "Wake up, father," she said desperately. "Wake up."

"He won' wake up," a ragged voice said.

She looked over to the source of the voice. The leader of the group that was now scattered across the room rose unsteadily. His sword was broken against the wall, but his hand held a knife. His left arm hung uselessly from his side. A trickle of blood still flowed from his mouth. His trembling legs somehow supported him across the room.

"I'll make sur' of it," he said, coughing up blood. "I'm sure I'll be rewarded if I can still manage t' retrieve the temple stuff and kill all three o' you!" He dived forward with the dagger.

He was almost on top of Hal when a rush of focused air shot at his neck, and he stumbled backwards. He coughed more blood onto the already bloodstained floor and breathed even more unevenly and labouredly.

"I din't expect tha'. Wind spell. Nearly crushed me pipes. But now, I'll kill ya first!" His dagger raised over his head, his eyes alight, he staggered over to Maura.

He didn't make it. Simon, who had been making his way over unnoticed, judged where the man was by the sound of his voice and swung his staff across to hit the unsteady man in the chest. Normally, this would not have affected him noticeably, but, in his weakened state, he tumbled backwards. He noticed the sword clutched and still held upright by one of the dead warriors. He tumbled through the air and managed to twist himself sideways. As the flesh on his back was torn by the edge of the blade, he noticed, too late, that he couldn't stop his rolling motion. He impaled himself through the stomach on the sword held by the man who had fallen beside his comrade.

Simon didn't even seem to notice the dying man, but kneeled down at Hal's side. After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, his hands glowed softly the blue colour of Mercury. He had only used Ply for a moment before his eyes widened and he stopped.

"Why have you stopped? Simon, you have to . . . ." Maura pleaded.

"It's no use," he said softly.

"No use? What do you--?"

"When someone tries to heal another who is beyond the aid of healing spells, they hear what is said to be the Reaper's call. The Reaper has already decided his death and now comes to claim his soul."

"_No!_" Maura yelled. "You must be able to . . . you're a healer, and you're just leaving him!" Tears began to stream from her eyes.

Hal stirred slightly. "Maura," he said weakly.

"Father?" she asked, stopping, scared that if she moved, she would burst the dream that she thought it must be.

"You're safe? Thanks be to Fate . . . ." He coughed for a moment, and then continued. "Don't grieve for me. I have only one regret with leaving this life . . . ."

"Father, don't say things like that!" Maura reprimanded quickly.

"It's no use. I see the Reaper at the door. He beckons me . . . . I apologise. If I was . . . stronger, I wouldn't leave you . . . forgive me."

"It's not your fault," Simon assured him. "I'm surprised you're still alive after what happened to you."

"You survived too . . . ? Then I at least helped a couple of people . . . through my death."

"Father, no!" Maura exclaimed.

"Do not worry, Maura . . . I go to a better place . . . . Be happy. If I was stronger, I would stay with you . . . . I'm sorry." His hand brushed her cheek. He whispered, so softly she could barely hear him now, "I'm so sorry . . . ."

He stiffened and his hand fell. His eyes closed gently.

"Father? No, _Father!_" Maura screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She sobbed for a few moments and then rose. "It's those soldiers fault!" she said angrily in a choked voice. "I'll kill them!"

She started towards the door where the sounds of battle still rang, but Simon grabbed her arm.

"Let me go!" she ordered.

Simon shook his head. "I'm not going to let you lose your life over this."

"Let me _go_!" She struggled against his grip and squirmed loose.

Simon made another blind grab and luckily caught her collar. "Listen to me! Your father risked his life in order to keep you safe! Are you going to annul the sacrifice he made for you?"

She stared at him defiantly for a moment, but then just sat and began to sob. Simon, unsure how to handle things, just stood there, listening at the sounds of battle outside.

---

Maura was still crying when she felt a hand on her shoulder. A handkerchief was pressed into her hand.

"Be strong, young one," Shi Maido told her. As she blew her nose, he sat down next to her. After a moment, he began to sing softly, a haunting tune in his native language. Maura's crying grew softer and she finally was lulled into sleep, leaning against the man. He stared off into the distance as he cradled her in his arms, still humming the tune.

Camellia, hanging back uncertainly, wondered what he was thinking.

When Marlel entered later, his sword bloodied, he looked at the Hal's body and then at Simon. The blind healer nodded sadly. Marlel swallowed as a solitary tear slid down his face.

"Marlel-_san_." The soft request came from the floor. Marlel looked down and was surprised to see the ruthless killer holding Maura comfortingly. "Please take care of this child once I've left. I no longer wish to kill you. Claudius is now my target, and I will need my sword back. If I can kill him, I will have no need to kill any more," he told him, and added wistfully, "Perhaps I'll be able to be at peace with myself."

Within minutes, Shi Maido had left and was on his way, searching for the Bringer of Truth. He turned back once to look at the temple.

"_Gambatte,_ little one," he murmured, and left, on the trail of his next victim.

---

Yoshimi: What do you think of my first attempt at angst?

Alfred: -wearing apron over cloak- -washing dishes in sink- I thought it--

-CRASH!-

Yoshimi: What in the world? -looks out the window-

Guy: Hiten Mitsurugi Style! Ryu-son-sen! -attacks realistic life-sized Matthew effigy- -trips over his own feet- -falls to the ground- -gets up- Grr! I _will_ defeat you, Matthew!

Yoshimi: Oh. It's just Guy. -sticks head back inside- I wonder where the dummy came from.

Alfred: I asked him to be a muse in exchange for food.

Yoshimi: -sighs- Not Guy, the Matthew dummy that Guy is whacking about.

Alfred: Oh. -pauses, positively pensive- I don't know. -continues washing dishes-

Yoshimi: -looks back outside- Hey, why is Guy on top of that . . . oh no.

Guy: Hiten Mitsurugi Style! Ryu-tsui-sen! -jumps and falls sword first- -misses Matthew effigy- -falls on his face-

Yoshimi: Oh dear.

Guy: -wobbles about, dizzy- -spots something- Must . . . train . . . be . . . best. Hiten Misturugi Style! Ryu-sho-sen!

Yoshimi: Wrong direction . . . Guy . . . -trails off- -runs towards the door- NO! STOP, GUY! THAT'S NOT THE DUMMY!

Guy: -sword bounces off something- Not the dummy? Then what. . . ? -looks up at enraged figure-

Yoshimi: -covers eyes with hands- It's Vyctori's muse, Menardi.

Menardi: -growls at Guy- And just _what_ was that for?

Alfred: -sticks head out of window- Oh, hello, Menardi! You've come to do the review-threats? -yanks head back inside as Pyroclasm rushes by-

Yoshimi: -squeaking- We're dead.


	6. A Hint Of Things To Come

A/N: Hello! Yes, I know I said that I'd update Weyard Weekly first, but I realized that this just made it so that I didn't get to work on either of them. Now I'm just going to put some time aside to work on things that I _ought_ to be working on, like Weyard Weekly, and update it when it's ready.

On to the review responses!

EchoKazul -- Yes, I've been watching a _lot_ of Kenshin lately (I've watched every episode dubbed and more than half of it subbed!). It kind of influenced Shi Maido . . . a lot. I wasn't overly happy with my own killing of Hal, but I was following what thoughts came into my own mind. Much of this story comes from images that pop into my head unbidden.

The Faction's Lord -- I'm rather surprised at how easy the transition was. And, if what others have been telling me is any clue, I appear to be doing well at it! (I can't tell personally about how good my writing is . . .)

MercuryAdept -- Well, yes, I guess it was, but I changed it to a happy ending and I didn't do overly well with it. Maura's fate will be detailed in this chapter.

The Mysterious Al -- Actually, I check the reviews of all my fics and your reminders do nothing to stir me. I am a lazy individual and will remain so. Sorry.

TetraSeleno -- Thank you! And one would think that having a rookie swordsman lose against a master swordsman would be an ordinary thing. ¬'¬ Unfortunately, it is not. And you will learn through this story about Shi Maido, never fear. His background has been forming in my head since before I even started writing this.

Glossary

_Baka_: Idiot

_Wakizashi_: Japanese long dagger

Chapter 5: A Hint of Things To Come

Claudius Perfidus, the Bringer of Truth, stood just outside the tall wooden door. He didn't bother looking at the ornate gold moulding or elaborate doorknocker. He gripped his sword, knuckles turning white from nerves. None of that fear reached his face.

"Enter, Bringer of Truth," a cool female voice called.

He entered cautiously. He walked past the rows of twin draconian statues and the other arcane decorations that lined the large hall. He had been here many times in the past, so he walked to the large silver-gilded throne. He kneeled and bowed until his head touched the cold stone floor.

"He demands servitude," a man standing next to the throne barked.

"My will is tied to His." He had given the ritualistic answer many times.

The man beside the throne nodded. "In her mercy, she has allowed you to stand before her."

Claudius stood. He looked at the throne. As always, most of the person sitting on it was mostly obscured by shadow, as was the one standing beside her.

"We request information on this one who has beaten the Bringer of Truth," the same cool voice that had summoned him in requested.

"Not beaten," Claudius corrected carefully.

"But you must admit, he would have defeated you should the time have been given," she pressed.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps," she amended. "However, it appears that this man may pose a threat, should he fight against us."

"That is more likely than not to happen," a sudden voice said.

Claudius whirled, sword drawn in a second. The man next to the throne placed a hand to his belt, too.

"Peace, great lords." A small and slender man stepped out from behind one of the statues that lined the hall. "I bring no harm."

The Bringer of Truth's lips twisted into a scowl, but the one beside the throne said without emotion, "Shadow Walker. How . . . unexpected."

"As usual," the enthroned female put in.

The man made an extravagant gesture ending by placing a hand over the general area of his heart. His blue eyes twinkled in amusement. "You wound me. To have been so easily forgotten by such a fair lady. . . ."

"Stow it," the fair lady in question snapped. "What is it?"

"Sources tell me that there is one warrior of great ability looking for someone who, let's say, overuses one certain expression." He used a hand to flip back a long blond strand that had fallen over his face, smiling impishly. "That is the truth," he added.

"Most unfortunate," the female replied. "I would have hoped to avoid conflict, but. . . ."

"I am sure that Shadow Walker here could let me know where he is for me to challenge," Claudius suggested. "My lady has only to command. . . ."

"I'm sure she will," Shadow Walker interrupted, tossing a knife he had produced from hand to hand carelessly. "After you did _ever_ so well last time."

"We will need to find someone more skilled," the man beside the throne said flatly. "They will demand a hefty price, but, since money is no object. . . ."

"Why bother fighting Mars with Mars?" Shadow Walker asked. "When Mercury would be _so_ much more effective?"

"What do _you_ suggest?" Claudius hissed.

"Someone who could work a little faster. An assassin, capitalized or otherwise," he suggested.

"Who? You?" the woman asked sharply.

Shadow Walker was a picture of innocence. "Me?" he said in a mock hurt tone. "You insult me. I plan; I am not a man of action. I couldn't fight to save my life." He then completely contradicted himself by tossing a knife in the air and catching it in its sheath. He turned the move into an elaborate bow, causing snorts of disbelief all around. "Besides," he said, exaggeratedly tired, opening his eyes and looking up at the others. "I've been working my skin to the bone for our newest project. That, I assume, is a higher priority."

"Hmm," the enthroned woman replied pensively. "I would prefer not to contradict either of you if I could help it. Both of you find the kinds of people you suggested. First come, first serve, first to the reward, which will be the usual for such a case."

The three others bowed simultaneously in complete sincerity, even on the part of Shadow Walker. "My lady," they murmured.

' ' ' ' ' '

The small girl hummed a tune to herself as she walked along briskly with all the incredible energy of a happy five-year-old. Her clothes, probably shabby to begin with, were in poor repair and her black hair was messy and dirty.

She didn't notice the two men following her, lost in her own world. She did, however, notice when one of them stepped in her path.

"Excuse me," she said automatically and attempted to move around him.

The lanky man stepped to one side and grabbed her arm. "Nah, excuses ain't necessary, kid. I wanna talk t' you."

"I don't want to talk to you," she told him, trying to squirm out of his grip.

He ignored her and dragged her inside an abandoned building. "Don't bother callin' fer help. No one's close enough, kid."

"Good job, Karl," a slightly tall man called. "You found one! Sure she's an orphan? Boss's orders."

"Sur' I'm sur'," the lanky one, Karl, replied lazily.

"What do you want with me?" the girl asked angrily.

"Boss's orders," Karl explained, vaguely.

". . . Yes?"

"Our boss got this great idea, see?" the other man explained. "He thought kidnapping a bunch of little kids, see, and then we train them until they turn out real rough and tough, see, and then before you know it, we got another generation of bandits, see? Of course, we need some women for these guys, see, for when the grow up, see, so that we can have another generation of bandits, see, and then we'll see, see?"

"I see," the child replied, confused.

"So, the boss sent us, see, because we're so good, see?" the man continued, oblivious to the child's confusion. "We're Karl the Killer, Sarl the Slayer, and Marl the Massacrer!"

The girl, still confused, looked at the two men in the room and asked, "Isn't that three people?"

"Huh? Oh, where's that dratted axe fighter?" the man said, annoyed. "Marl! _Marl!_ You idiot, get in here!"

"Right!" A huge, muscular man came out into the open from behind some large piles of boxes, his axe on his shoulder. "Wha' y'doin'?"

"I'm preparing a pot of idiot stew and I'm looking for the main ingredient; what do you _think_ we're doing? I've told you about this a thousand times! We're here to kidnap this girl, see? Does that jog what constitutes for memory for you?"

"Uh . . ." the axe wielder looked as deep in thought as he could. "Nope!" he replied cheerfully.

The man placed his head in his hands. "Why do I even bother? Just draw in the dust or something until we need you."

"Duh, okay!"

Noticing the girl looking at him sceptically, the man quickly continued his spiel. "The spearman, Karl the Killer!" he said dramatically, waving a hand at the lanky one. "Undefeated in combat!"

The axe man looked over. "Uh, what 'bout when. . . ?"

"Shut up."

"Or when. . . ?"

"Shut up," Karl said.

"Or. . . ?"

"_Shut--up!_" Karl and the man yelled.

"Duh, okay!"

The man sighed. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Wielder of axes, Marl the Massacrer! Unstoppable strength matched only by his keen intelligence--oh, who am I fooling?"

Marl looked up from where he was drawing little flowers in the dust. "Wha'?"

"And me," the man continued, ignoring his thick partner. "Sarl the Slayer! Indestructible, unbeatable, swordsman whose strength and skill know no bounds!"

Karl glanced at his partner. "Tha's enough, Sarl."

"Peerless, unmatched, stronger than anyone else . . ."

"Tha's redundant, Sarl."

"_You_ make up the speech, then. . . . All alive or dead fear me!"

The girl looked at him innocently. "I don't."

Sarl growled. "_Well, you should!_"

"I don't see why," a voice said coldly from behind the door.

"Who's that?" Sarl asked. "Who--oof!" He fell backwards as the remainder of the door hit him in the chest.

"I only came here to have my blunt sword reforged," Shi Maido said from the doorway. "I had no wish to fight. Definitely not to kill. Why don't you humour me and walk away right now? If not," he said, drawing his sword, "I make no guarantees of your survival. What will it be?"

"Marl, get him," Sarl said grumpily, trying to emerge from under the door that Shi Maido had shoved at him.

"Duh, okay." Marl got up from his little drawings. He picked up his huge axe and swung horizontally.

Shi Maido responded instantly, blocking swiftly. There was a clang of metal on metal, and a sword went flying through the air and stuck in the wall. His eyes flicked towards his sword for only a moment.

"I hate it when this happens," Shi Maido said levelly. Marl lowered his arms and nodded sympathetically.

"Marl, this is no time to be gentlemanly!" Sarl growled. "Get him!"

"Duh, okay," Marl replied amicably. He raised his axe again, apologising to his opponent, "Sorry 'bout this."

"No problem," Shi Maido replied.

Marl nodded and brought his axe down, scattering floorboards. Shi Maido jumped sideways, knelt into his motion, and shot out again, fist extended. He hit the axe wielder straight in the face, before dropping down again. After crouching down to absorb the shock of hitting the floor, he stood up and dusted off his hands.

Nothing happened.

Shi Maido looked back in astonishment as the colossus looked around in confusion, lifting his axe. "Where did he go?" Marl muttered, turning around. "Hey, how'd y' get here?"

Shi Maido yelled and threw another punch. Same effect. He gave a flying kick to the man's shoulder. Nada. He let loose a flurry of punches. Only effect being that his fists became very sore. He blew on them as the Marl's partners laughed at him. Marl was still just confused, but gave that up quickly when he attacked again.

Shi Maido jumped away again. He scratched the back of his head after landing. "This one's tougher than I thought. Maybe I will need to kill him after all," he mused. He quickly moved when Marl attacked again.

Shi Maido jumped to one side and crouched as Marl turned to face him. Marl raised his axe and Shi Maido leapt onto a box and jumped upwards from stack to stack until he was higher than his opponent's reach. Giving Marl a suffice amount of time to register this new location, he jumped off the boxes. Marl, seeing Shi Maido just out of axe reach, jumped as well, bringing the gigantic axe swinging through the air, straight towards the leaping swordsman.

At the last moment, Shi Maido grabbed one of the ceiling supports and twisted his body just away from the axe swing. As Marl was on his way down, he swung back and pushed himself, feet first, on Marl's shoulder blades. Using Marl's weight and his own momentum, he drove his opponent into the floor.

Shi Maido walked off the body that was stuck headfirst into the floor calmly. Sarl and Karl stared at their thought-to-be unstoppable partner, who's muffled calls for help could now be heard. Such a blow would have killed most men, but Marl was as thickheaded literally as figuratively.

Shi Maido turned to the remaining two. "Will that suffice to convince you?" he asked.

Karl grabbed a spear that was strapped to his back. "Not just yet! Th' best is yet t' come!" he shouted as he thrust viciously at Shi Maido.

A blink, and all that one would be able to see would be the flash of Shi Maido's two _wakizashis_ as they were sheathed once again in his sleeves. The point and much of the shaft of the spear fell to the ground.

As Karl stared at his now useless stick, Shi Maido kicked the more useful parts to one side and looked around curiously. "The best is yet to come? Is there someone somewhat less pathetic that you _bakas_?"

Karl, still in shock, poked Shi Maido lightly with the pole. Shi Maido ignored the poking and went over to retrieve his sword as Karl followed, still poking unbelievingly. Then he shook himself and roared, "I can still beat you!" He twirled the pole over his head rapidly and brought it downwards in a powerful blow.

Unfortunately for Karl, the blow never landed. Shi Maido, in a movement that looked almost as if it were accidental, withdrew his sword from the wall and slammed its hilt into the spearman's stomach. Karl the Killer flew across the small room and slammed into the wall, unconscious.

"One last chance to surrender, you," Shi Maido told Sarl coldly.

"_My name is Sarl the Slayer!_"

"It is? I am sorry. I had forgotten that useless piece of information," Shi Maido replied cooly. "After all, why bother to remember a two-coin swordsman as you?"

Sarl the Slayer growled, but then forced out a smile. "Oh, you'll remember it. For the rest of your all too short life!" Sarl grabbed the young girl, who had been almost forgotten during the fighting. He held his sword dangerously close to her throat. "Drop your sword and throw it away, or this one dies."

Shi Maido did as he was told, slowly but unhesitatingly.

"_And_ the ones in your sleeves. . . ."

"You're no fun," Shi Maido said blandly as he dropped the two swords from their place and kicked them away.

"Hah." Sarl gestured with his sword arm widely. "Never trust an enemy. That was your mistake."

"Your mistake," Shi Maido replied. "Was _never let your guard down!_"

A quick "Huh?" was all that Sarl had time for before the heel of Shi Maido's hand connected with the bottom of his chin. His head snapped back, slamming into the wall behind him. The rotted wood collapsed behind him, and his head smashed through the wall. He fell into unconsciousness as he slumped against the wall.

Shi Maido retrieved his swords and returned them to their normal places. He began to leave, but turned to look at the little girl.

"Sorry for taking so long," Shi Maido said apologetically.

He was almost outside when the girl called, "Hey, mister!"

Shi Maido stopped and turned around. "Would you mind not calling me that? It makes me feel old," he said, walking back towards her.

"Aren't you?" The girl sounded surprised at his objection.

Shi Maido froze in mid-step. "I'm only twenty-seven!"

"That's _really_ old, mister."

Shi Maido hung his head. When he lifted it up again, he said, "Please don't call me that. My name is Shi Maido."

"Okay, mister."

He scratched the back of his head as he straightened. "Stop calling me that. My name is Shi Maido. Got that?"

The girl nodded understandingly. "Your name is Shi Maido, mister."

His hands dropped to his sides. "Stop calling me that. My name is Shi Maido. Use it!"

"Right, mister."

Shi Maido's hands fisted. "_Stop calling me that!_ My. Name. Is. Shi. Maido. Got--it?"

"Sure, mister."

"_Aragag!_" Shi Maido walked towards the wall and put his fist through the decaying wood.

There was a pause.

"Ow. I think I hurt myself." He withdrew his fist gingerly.

"Is there something wrong, mister?"

Shi Maido knelt down to her level. "_Please_ stop calling me mister!" he begged.

"Fine, sir."

He hung his head again. "That's even worse," he mumbled.

"Sir?"

"Never mind. Mister is better than sir."

"Okay, mister."

"That's the best I'm going to get. . . . What was it?"

"Um. . . ." She seemed shy for a moment, and then said, rather brokenly, "I--I don't have anywhere to go back to. I'm alone in this world. My parents died just last winter. I have no one left. Even my brother died. . . ." She seemed unable to continue.

Shi Maido looked at her. He thought back to one place, a field, on a day that was supposed to have been one of joy . . . ten long years ago. Could it have really been that long? He had felt that the sun would never rise again as he watched it set that day, when he, too, felt broken and very much alone. That wound had never fully healed, but here, he could change one person's life so that they needn't ever feel the way he did . . . and still did, every day, every sunset. . . .

"Come," he said, standing. "You can come with me."

She brightened visibly. "Really?" she asked, joyfully. She hugged his leg. "Thank you!"

Shi Maido smiled benevolently down at her.

She let go of his leg. "Of course, the first thing we're going to do is save those other orphans that those three were talking about," she said in a tone that reminded him of his old teachers. For a five year old, she did a very passable imitation of a know-it-all grown up who felt that this was, of course, beyond a doubt, the only right decision.

"We are?" Shi Maido asked as the two of them began walking.

"Of course, mister!"

"Would you stop calling me that?" he asked, annoyed.

"Sure, mister."

"Do you even know _where_ those men are from?"

"No."

"I don't even know _why_ I'm doing this," he muttered.

"What's that, mister?"

"Nothing. And please, call me Shi Maido."

"Sure, Mister Shi Maido."

"We sure have a long way to go. . . ."

"Can I have something to eat? I'm _starving_!"

"Sure," he said, then mumbling, "I'll just have to live on roots and edible grubs, it appears. My purse _already_ could barely support me. . . ."

"Mister?"

"It's Shi Maido, remember?"

"Right, Mister Shi Maido."

Shi Maido, serial killer, merciless warrior, sighed.

' ' ' ' ' '

Maura was lying on a grassy plain, the wind rustling the tops of the long grass. She couldn't remember getting there, but she still had an almost tangible feeling of peace. She smiled and sighed contently. She felt completely at ease.

As if the sigh had issued some command, the wind picked up and a sudden fog rolled across the plain. It passed as suddenly as it had started, drawing the wind with it. For a moment, there was no sound.

When the last wisps of fog had fallen away, she saw the plain changed horrifically. A few warriors tramped down the grass as they fought fiercely. The dying grass was stained red from the blood pouring from the bodies that littered the plain. The quiet was broken with the screams of the wounded and dying.

The fight between the survivors was quick to end. Soon, only two men, wearing the same colours, were left standing. They looked at each other for a moment before one slid behind the other and placed a dagger in the other's back. The stabbed one made no sound as he crumpled to the ground, blood flowing from his back. The dead man's companion didn't even look at the fallen one, only taking the bloodied dagger out. He licked some of the blood off before he noticed Maura. His eyes lit up inhumanly and approached, dripping dagger ready. She turned to run.

As she turned, she found herself on the edge of a cliff. She looked down as a rock tumbled down until it vanished from sight. She looked over the land in front of her. It was burning in multiple wildfires that stretched over the entire region before her. Gutted forests and charred plains stretched beyond the horizon visible from the great height.

She heard a noise and turned, certain it was the warrior. Instead, she saw an unnaturally tall man approaching. He wore a white robe that shone as brightly as his face and his long blond hair. He was beautiful, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. His face was serious as he made his way towards the cliff's edge. She nearly asked him about where she was, but something in his manner stopped her, although she couldn't name what.

He continued, slowly and deliberately, still with the solemn expression. He seemed wise and good in appearance and power seemed to radiate as much as the light coming from him did. He looked over the edge of the cliff at the horrors below. As Maura watched, his expression changed. He began to smile.

Before she had even time to register this, she felt herself falling into white space. She felt herself land on something soft, even though she couldn't see anything. She looked around until she saw a human figure.

"Hello, child." The voice sounded familiar.

The figure came into focus and she recognized him. It was Gregory the seer, one of the priests whose bodies now littered the inner temple's floors.

"Listen to me well," he told her quietly. "I did not discover this until it was too late, but . . . there is no such thing as 'will be.' There is only 'might be.' However, if people such as you or I don't make the right decisions now, it is going to be 'will be' . . . although I am beyond that now," he added bitterly as he began to fade from view. "But you, just like everyone else alive now, can change this future. Make the choice now or I may have to discover that I am wrong." He faded completely from view.

She tried to call after him, but she was interrupted by a voice so beautiful that it was terrible. "Maura."

She saw the robed man from before come, walking slowly with the same smile on his face. It made him look benevolent and she almost walked towards him, but then she remembered when he had begun smiling.

"Maura."

She shrunk away from the man as he approached slowly but steadily. He was almost upon her.

"Maura."

She closed her eyes and lashed out with one hand.

"Ow!" a completely different voice yelled.

She blinked and found herself on the floor of the temple, looking into Simon's blind eyes. His hands rubbed his nose.

"Are you all right?" Simon asked. "You were mumbling in your sleep."

She looked around. The bodies had been carried away, but the blood still stained the floor.

She thought back to her dream and the beautiful man.

"I--I'm fine. Thank you," she replied.

Simon looked unconvinced, but he let it slide. "Well, that's good," he said doubtfully, straightening. "I'm sorry if I disturbed your rest." He walked over to where Marlel and Camellia were speaking in lowered voices. Straining her ears, she could make out their voices.

". . . if those men have any connection to that fortune-teller?" Camellia was asking.

"Don't concern yourself with them," Marlel reassured her. "A messenger was sent this morning to the Madran League's capital, requesting aid. The king will listen to us."

"Still, if they are connected," Simon said, joining the conversation. "Then it most certainly does concern us. If he has hired soldiers, especially that Bringer of Truth, it will make our task all the more difficult."

"Wait here," Marlel suggested. "When reinforcements arrive, I'm sure some of them will help you in your quest."

"That would not be wise." Simon leaned against the wall. "That man is dangerous. A normal soldier wouldn't stand a chance against him. I felt his power. That spell he used against Camellia was one of his weakest, just thrown over his shoulder in retreat. If we are going to get any help, we must seek aid from someone greater."

"I guess that we could go to the Madran League ourselves," Camellia suggested. "I'm sure we could pick up some more worthy warriors there. After all, if they send soldiers to match _these_ mercenaries, then we are going to get the dregs of the army. We'll just have to find others."

"That's not going to be easy," Marlel warned. "Warriors as powerful as the ones you're seeking don't just come up and say--"

"I'm going with you!"

"What?" Marlel cried, as he and Camellia turned to see Maura standing.

Camellia smothered a laugh. "And maybe they do!" she chortled, elbowing Marlel.

Marlel was in no joking mood. "Maura, what are you--"

"I am going with you," Maura replied.

Marlel went on one knee in order to look Maura in the eyes. He laid one hand on her shoulder as he said gently, "I know you're upset and all about . . . this, but you shouldn't just go off on a reckless adventure . . ."

"Marlel. I saw Gregory," she replied softly.

His eyebrows shot up. "I'm guessing you don't mean this morning, when he was working in the garden."

She shook her head slowly.

Marlel looked around helplessly. "But wouldn't you just slow these two down in battle?" he asked hopelessly.

"Not really," Simon said helpfully. "I've been having trouble getting around now that Terry's not here. He always used to guide me and describe what was happening. She could do the same."

Marlel looked up at the ceiling pleadingly. "Fine!" he relented. "Since half the world has conspired to take my friend's daughter on a hopeless and dangerous world tour, I might as well let her go!"

"Thanks!" Maura said happily.

"Yeah, yeah," he said grumpily. "Don't mention it."

"You really do deserve our thanks. . . ." Simon began.

"I meant it when I said _don't mention it!_"

' ' ' ' ' '

"Well, I guess I should be saying goodbye," Marlel said. He scuffed one foot in the dirt. Behind him, the still living monks waved cheerfully from the large temple doorway.

"Farewell," Simon replied. "Good luck, now that this is over!"

"Keep her safe," Marlel ordered.

"Don't worry, I'll protect these two and keep them out of trouble," Camellia promised, bending over and slinging her arms over her shorter companions' shoulders.

Maura looked unimpressed. "Just what are you insinuating?"

Camellia smiled. "Oh, nothing!" she replied cheerfully.

Simon, foreseeing an argument, said hastily, "We'd better get going."

They started along, but turned back when the group of monks shouted their goodbyes and good wishes. They saw Marlel look around helplessly before grudgingly joining in with the enthusiastic waving.

"Thanks for all of your help!" Camellia called.

"Most assuredly, yes," Simon added. "Good luck."

"You said that before."

"They need all of the good luck they can get."

Maura looked back sadly at the place she had grown up in. There wasn't much left there for her but memories of better days. She turned around and looked forward, where she hoped happier days than this one.

Farther up the slope, a figure stood, watching the cheerful scene below. His clothes may have been changed, but under the black hood of his robes, the same blue eyes of the fortune-teller could be seen. Blue eyes that seemed to be turning to purple as a mist-like propriety was coming into them.

The man stood there even after the three travellers had disappeared into the distance. As he waited, he was rewarded with the sight of another man.

This one's short black hair was ruffled by the wind. He carried a longsword at his side, sheathed but ready to be drawn by the hand that was placed on it at all times. The other hand was nearly swallowed up by the wide sleeves of his red shirt. Travel-stained boots peeked out from underneath the billowing pants. His brown eyes were alert as he drew his homespun shirt around him tighter to keep back the cold winds that were blowing now. His aura of Venus Psynergy was impressive, but not unusually so.

When he reached the temple doors, only Marlel was still there. His hands reached in a pouch that was kept in place by a rope around his waist that was holding his pants up.

"My good fellow," he said, extra polite, revealing the two coins in his hand at the same time. "Have you seen a girl with a sword with a boy healer pass by this way?"

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Marlel asked suspiciously.

The hand holding the coins twitched impatiently. "That is my own business and I would appreciate it if you would keep your nose out of it. Have you seen them?"

"Not unless you answer my questions," Marlel replied, frowning.

"So you did. Why are you so . . . ah." The swordsman's eyes saw a bloodstain on the wall. "You have had trouble, haven't you? I'm sorry for being so irritable. I can see why you'd ask me, now. Well, I can tell you that I mean no harm to them. I am Rendal, a warrior from the village of Kandorea. Those two have left without permission, seeking to beat an opponent stronger than they. I was supposed to be the one to go, as the greatest warrior of my village. Now, I seek to return them home and finish the quest myself."

The fortune-teller didn't wait to hear the priest's answer. He set out once again, registering the face of his newest opposition.

' ' ' ' ' '

Karl finally got up with a splitting headache. He looked around and walked over to Sarl. Pulling the swordsman's head from the wall, he frowned, thinking of the swordsman who had defeated them.

Sarl was about to speak when he heard the muffled cries of Marl. He and Karl walked over and each grabbed a leg.

As they pulled, Sarl said angrily, "Who does that guy think he is?"

"Id'yot," Karl agreed.

"He was just lucky. That won't happen again!" Sarl announced.

"Yeah, we prob'ly won't see 'im again," Karl said.

"No! We're going to beat him!" Sarl exclaimed. "Then all will know us and fear us!"

Karl stopped pulling. "Do y' think we can do it?" he asked excitedly.

Sarl also stopped in the pulling. "Yeah! Watch out world, here come the Three!"

Marl's muffled yelling brought them once again back into the real world.

"Soon, all will know our names!" Sarl exclaimed.

"An' fear us!" Karl added.

There was a distinct popping noise as Marl finally was yanked out. The two pullers fell backwards at the sudden lack of resistance and hit their heads again. Marl fell backwards, his large bulk sitting on the two, who were now groaning at the weight.

"I'm free!" Marl shouted joyfully. "Hey, guys, com' look. . . . Guys?"

The axe wielder looked around, not noticing the two people pounding at his immense body from behind, meeting only the solidness that was Marl the Massacurer.

"Ah, well, t'ey'll be back soon," he concluded, leaning back for a nap.

"_Noooooooo!_" his partners screamed as the giant shadow fell over them.

Marl looked around yet again from his lying down position. "Wha'? Was tha' you?" he asked from on top of the two warriors. "Ah, well. Flo'r's funny feelin'."

Snores sounded through the chamber as the two warriors struggled against the weight of the third.

' ' ' '

There would be a muse skit here, but I don't want to endanger Stone Tablet by putting anything script formatted. I'll be taking down the muse skits as I reupload some chapters (I'm having Stone Tablet betaed by Tetra Seleno-dono), but they will be moved to "http: ww w.livejournal.c om /users /feather dusthero" (remove spaces).


	7. Jerk Of All Trades

A/N: My apologies for taking so long to update! However, I just recently read through chapter seven that I wrote and realized how horrible it is. This made Yoshimi an unhappy author. So he didn't feel like editing this chapter, either. So he was lazy, as usual.

I'll do my best to get updating more often, but my wrists have been too sore to use the computer for a while (they're still in poor condition, so I'm not going to be on the computer too much) and I'm rather busy (for once in my life).

So, to the reviews, my poor, neglected readers!

Avari wind seer: Thank you very much! Pax Tolbi is supposed to be exactly like pax romana, because I'm too lazy to make up new civilizations for this. Although this means that I have no excuse when I make historical errors. Uh-oh.

Mysterious Al: Thanks! Sorry for being a little cranky. Unfortunately, I haven't gotten around to updating Weyard Weekly. I really, really should, because I think that I'd only have to update it three times and it would be done. ;;;; Oops.

Rallalon: Yay! Thank you! Simon requires some concentration, as occasionally I write things like "Simon looked" before I catch myself. ;

Umm . . . it looks like I forgot to prepare a glossary and stuff. If there's anything someone wants explained, I'll edit this chapter to do so.

Before the chapter begins, I'd like to thank the people who have looked over my chapters on my Livejournal and told me where I was stupid. This includes, if I recall correctly: Tetra Seleno, Vyctori, and Avari. Thank you! Also, thanks to my reviewers, as always.

Chapter 6: Jerk Of All Trades 

In the light of the early morning, Camellia scrambled over a large boulder. Standing tall, she shaded her eyes and looked around. Having satisfied her curiosity, she called to her two companions father down the slope.

"I think we're starting to head in the right direction again!" she told them.

"Thank goodness," Simon murmured. "I think we've been scrambling over rocks in this Fate-forsaken maze for several days."

"Normally, the scenery would be nice," Maura agreed. "But several days of it without actually knowing where we're going gets tedious. Where did all these rocks come from, anyway?"

Camellia grinned and gestured pointedly at the cliffs that had hemmed them in throughout their journey across the Dehkan Plateau.

"Rhetorical. The question was rhetorical."

Camellia jumped down from her perch. "Don't worry. The cliffs are moving in the right direction now," she said, her arm sweeping towards the long grass that disappeared around a corner turning south. She began walking towards it, adding, "As long as we don't have any unexpected delays, we soon should be arriving . . ." Her voice trailed off as she found herself facing a giant pillar of rock. "Where did this come from?" she asked angrily.

"And if we have some unexpected delays," Simon said dryly, his hands going over the stone pillar as high as he could reach, "we should be lost in the plateau forever. All we need is a hoard of bloodthirsty bandits to complete this picturesque scene."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that rocks are naturally shaped that way," Maura commented, looking at the pillar that stood on its own in the middle of the narrow pass between two of the cliffs. Even without the mineral obstruction, it was barely wide enough for them to pass.

"Well, at least the place looks good," Camellia said with more cheer than she felt. The idea of going all the way back and starting again was not pleasant. "You know, blue sky, windswept plains, majestic trees, rocks." The last was said without as much enthusiasm.

"Trees?" Maura asked. "We haven't seen _a_ tree, let alone the plural, since we left the temple a week ago. Maybe more. I've lost track."

"There are a few over there," Camellia replied, pointing towards a small forest that was between two cliffs. "Hey, wait a second. It looks like there's a space between those trees. I think there's another valley down there! Hey, I'll bet this one leads to the Madran League! We're safe!" She took off down to the woods.

"Great," Simon remarked as Maura helped guide him along the rocky ground. "As long as we're here, we might as well stick our heads out farther."

They made their way to the forest, where Camellia was waiting impatiently. They walked down the gentle slope through the quiet forest. The crunching beneath their feet sounded loud against the silence that was unbroken except for the occasional bird chirping.

_EDIT:_

At one point, Maura asked, "Um, Camellia, where did you put the bag you were carrying?"

"It hasn't mo-" Camellia made an impatient motion with her hand, then realized that it was the hand she had been carrying her bag in. "Er. Well. That's a surprise." She looked around and noticed someone walking nearby. "Excuse me, sir," she called. "Have you seen a bag around here?" Her hands started to form the shape of the missing bag. "It was about so big. . . ." The space between Camellia's hands ranged in several attractive sizes, some that seemed large enough for Maura to sleep in while others appeared to be just right for socks.

"It looks very much like that bag you're carrying," Maura added helpfully.

"Yes, it-wait a second." Camellia did not seem impressed with the solution that she had come to. "Hey, stop, thief!" she shouted at the retreating back of the man, starting to chase after him.

Just as all hope seemed lost and that our heroes would be forced to face the fate of wearing the same clothing for a _long_ time, there was an ominous creaking sound and a voice shouted something that, seeing the results, was probably along the lines of "Timber!"

Camellia reached the thief, who was currently residing underneath a freshly fallen tree, first, thinking that Fate must be a sadist.

A boy about her age came out behind where the tree once stood and grimaced. "I warned you," he told the thief.

Luckily for the thief, it was a small tree, for a tree, and he was still capable of responding with something unprintable.

"Not in front of a lady," the boy reprimanded.

Camellia pointedly ignored this in a fashion that said clearly that, yes, she _did_ hear that and hated him and his ancestors for it, but was going to ignore it to annoy him. She reached over the fallen tree and snatched her bag back.

"Hey, wait a second," the boy protested. "You can't just take that." He tried to grab it from her.

"Oh yes, I can!" she replied. She tugged on it.

"Oh no, you can't!" The boy pulled back.

"Oh yes, I can!"

"Oh no, you can't!"

This proceeded in such a childish manner that one expected that someone was going to threaten to tell their mommy.

By this point, Simon and Maura had reached the place where Camellia and the boy were still pulling on the bag. Hearing the argument, which had retained its original form, Simon sighed.

"What's wrong?" Simon asked.

"This boy tried to tell me that I couldn't take my bag back!" Camellia reported.

"Did you _tell_ him that it was your bag?"

"Of-well, not in so many words. . . ."

"If it wouldn't be too much bother," the thief asked, still under the log.

The boy blinked and closed the mouth that he had opened to argue so more. "What? Oh, right. You, guy, could you help me with this?" He leaned back against the trunk until the thief underneath protested.

"Well, um . . ." Simon seemed to be taken off guard. "I'm not really that. . . ."

"Well, you're the man," Lugh said. "You have to take the responsibility for the work that requires a man's strength."

Simon, having been friends with Camellia long enough to know what it took to set her off, backed up and gestured to Maura to do the same thing.

"What do you _mean_, a _man's_ strength? I could do twice as well as any man!" Camellia shouted.

"But you're a _woman_," the boy replied, as if that explained everything. To nearly everyone in Weyard, it did explain his reasoning. To Camellia, it was a declaration of war.

"I think you're just scared to see what a woman would do to you in a fair contest."

"What would you consider a fair contest? Spinning?"

"Yeah, spinning you around by that red bush you call hair!"

"My hair has nothing to do with this! You just-"

Simon stood back until there was a lull in the argument. He stepped forward and said, "Why don't you just both do it and then we can see."

"Fine!" they both declared and began pushing immediately. The log did not move.

"You have to push from the same side, you know," the thief pointed out grumpily.

"Oh, right," both said, more or less together. It took a while before they could agree on a side ("Your side is obviously inferior!" "Oh yeah? _My_ side has a better view, or it _would_ if it wasn't for _you_!" "You wanna make something of it?" "I _am_ making something of it!"), but finally, the log rolled off.

"Finally," the thief muttered. He brushed himself off and started walking away.

"Thank goodness _that_'s over," Camellia muttered. "Let's see. . . ." She began listing off the things inside of the bag. "It looks like everything's here!"

"Weren't you the one carrying our money?" Maura asked.

Camellia looked at Maura as the gears turned in her head. "Uh-oh . . . you get back here!" she shouted at the suddenly quickly moving thief, who disappeared into the forest.

"Huh, a _man_ would have been level-headed enough to not have his stuff stolen," the boy taunted.

Camellia was about to shout when she noticed something. "Hey, weren't you carrying an axe?"

"I still-" The boy suddenly realized that he was holding a lot of air in his hand.

"Boy, that thief is _good_," Maura said, almost admiringly.

"Hah, there goes your theory about men being superior," she said.

"That's just because you all distracted me!"

"Neener neener _neener_!"

"You stupid-_who_ was it that lost their stuff in the first place?"

"That doesn't count!"

_/EDIT_

Simon, trying to prevent an argument, walked forward with his hands raised. "Okay, you two, that's enough . . ."

"Not until _he_ admits his fault!" Camellia shouted, while the boy chimed in with, "Not until _she _admits her fault!"

"Oh boy," Simon muttered, adding in a louder tone. "We're wondering if you know any way to the Madran League?"

The boy snorted. "_Every_one knows that! It's just down near the edge of the forest." He pointed in the direction that they came.

"We tried that, but the way's blocked. Any other exits?"

The axe fighter scratched his head. "You could ask for directions at the village," he suggested helpfully.

"Which village?" Simon asked.

"There's a village just down that way. I could escort you there," the boy suggested helpfully, reaching back to take the axe strapped to his back.

"What?" Camellia sounded offended. "You think we can't protect ourselves?"

"Well, the only _man_ in your group isn't a fighter, so. . . ."

"What was _that_ supposed to mean, weakling?"

"_Weakling?_ I'll have you know . . ."

Simon sighed, beginning to despair of ever reaching _anywhere_, let alone the Madran League.

Finally, with the combined efforts of Maura and Simon, the two warriors stopped arguing and they headed towards the village. Nothing, however, could convince the two to stand within several metres of the other. They ended up in a long line with the boy in the lead and Camellia trailing behind. For a while, there was no sound from the group, other than the mutterings of the boy and the audible grinding of Camellia's teeth.

"So," Simon asked their guide to break the silence. "What's your name?"

"I'm Lugh!" he replied cheerfully. "I am an axe fighter of feared reputation . . ."

He was interrupted by a snort from Camellia's direction.

He frowned. "Fine. I'm an apprentice lumberjack from a small village. Happy?"

"An _apprentice_ lumberjack? How pathetic is that? What's there to know?" Camellia was unimpressed.

"That's enough, Camellia," Simon warned.

Before Camellia could launch into another argument, Maura said hesitantly, "Um . . . I can't help noticing that you don't look like most of the people of this region. . . ."

Lugh flashed a grin. "Got it in one! I'm from a Vail from Angara. Women can't resist a foreigner."

Maura turned bright red and muttered something unintelligible. Simon place a hand over his face and sighed. Camellia snorted loudly.

Lugh smiled wryly. "To be truthful, that's what my brother told me. Hasn't worked for me yet . . ."

"I can see why . . ." Camellia remarked under her breath.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing."

Simon looked thoughtful. "A Vail . . . aren't those the people who live just outside of the Tolbian borders?"

"Got that right!" Lugh answered, cheery as he always seemed to be when he wasn't arguing.

"You mean, you're a barbarian?" Camellia asked innocently.

"I suppose you could say that . . ." Lugh said evasively, scratching behind his headband.

Camellia's lips twitched as she suppressed laughter.

"Here's the village, I think!" Maura said quickly, seeing both a house and an argument approach.

"Yes, that's it! And. . . ." Lugh's cheerful expression appeared to fall from his face to be replaced by a look of despair. He added quietly, "And that's my brother."

The handsome young man approaching looked about three or four years older than Lugh. His clothing was similar, although it didn't cover quite as well as and was in better condition than Lugh's shirt and trousers.

He walked up and towered over the group, even Lugh who, before that point, Simon had thought was tall. "Well now, here's my good ol' bro, home from slacking off!" he said cheerfully, squeezing Lugh's shoulder a little too strongly.

Lugh clenched his teeth to stop from making any noise to tell the pain. "Hello, Bricriu," he muttered.

Bricriu didn't seem to notice the greeting. "Well, what is it we have here?" he asked, tossing his long blond hair. "Let me guess. You lifted a rock and these crawled out." He looked over each of them in turn while fingering the tie that held his hair back, his eyes stopping when he saw Camellia. "Well, well, who's this?"

He walked over, stooped, and snipped a flower growing by the road with his axe. Picking it up between his thumb and index finger, he said, in the tone of one used to having girls be deliriously happy at any show of affection, "For you, beautiful." He placed a one hand on Camellia's shoulder and offered the flower.

Lugh expected a blush, an acceptance of the gift, or at least a flattered expression. It happened often enough with his brother. No doubt Bricriu was expecting the same.

What Bricriu had not expected was to have a sword thrust towards his face, stopping just short of his nose.

"If you don't take your hand off me," Camellia told him coldly, "then I will have to cut it off."

Bricriu carried it off well, surprise showing only in his eyes for a moment. He shrugged elegantly. "As you wish," he said gallantly, sounding as if it was his idea in the first place. He walked back to Lugh, who rapidly stopped rubbing his sore shoulder. "I must be off," he told them over his shoulder as he left for the village. "I really ought to practice in order to win the contest by an even greater margin. If beauty changes her mind," he added, winking, "then I can be found in the village centre." He turned back to the road, a hand raised in farewell.

Camellia snorted. "What a jerk!" she muttered. "I see it runs in the family." She looked meaningfully at Lugh.

"Wha-_what?_" Lugh exclaimed. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Um . . . how about we get to the village?" Simon suggested nervously.

Lugh considered arguing for a moment, but finally said, ". . . Fine. This way."

He led the way sulkily through the small village. It was an ordinary lumber town in every respect. Men were chopping wood while some women could be seen placing laundry out to dry from the windows of some of the taller buildings that housed several families. Most, however, had only a single floor, except maybe an attic. Camellia grew sour as she watched the gender-specific roles so common around the streets. When one of the men called a greeting to her, calling her "little lady," she nearly bit his head off. Simon apologised to the confused man as she stomped past, her face a study of annoyance.

She was so absorbed in her anger that she didn't hear Lugh's warnings and walked straight into a tall man. She was about to apologise when she saw his face. She groaned aloud. "Not you again . . ."

Bricriu smiled broadly. "Has the little beauty changed her-"

"I did _not_ change my mind," she growled. "And I am _not little_!"

Her companions caught up with her, manoeuvring around the small knot of drooling girls that had gathered around Bricriu. To Camellia's disgust, she found that he worked with the lacings that held the top part of his shirt together undone. Sitting on a platform nearby was a large round log.

Simon walked as quickly as he could without tripping over something towards Bricriu. "Please accept my apologies for us disturbing your work. She was just-"

"-so overcome with her emotions that she _had_ to see me again?" he suggested. "Don't worry, it happens often."

Growling, Camellia drew her blade and brought it up towards Bricriu. Bricriu twirled the large axe he held and sliced sideways in an offhand movement against her sword. Camellia's sword was hit with a resounding clang. It flew across the clearing, scattering love-stricken girls as they rushed to avoid the danger.

Bricriu smiled and placed the axe over one shoulder. "What was that?" he asked in a careless tone of voice. "I thought I heard you say something."

She looked at where her sword had been for a moment, then threw a punch. Bricriu caught her hand.

"Nice hands," he remarked pleasantly, pushing her back a little while releasing her hand and causing her to stumble. "Be glad that I am too honourable to hit women." He turned back to his work.

Simon placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let's just get out of here," he suggested quietly as Bricriu's admirers squealed compliments.

She allowed herself to be led out of the village centre. Lugh followed and, after watching them for a moment, so did Maura.

After they had been walking for a while, Lugh tapped Simon on the shoulder. "Here. This is my house. We can stop in here."

Simon nodded. Releasing Camellia's shoulder, he followed the sound of Lugh's voice as he walked towards the house.

"I have to share it with my parents and my little sister," he explained. "Luckily, my brother moved out. Thank goodness. I've had to live this long with the knowledge that behind every curtain, there's probably a girl looking for my brother."

He stopped suddenly, causing Simon to run into him and fall backwards. "What is it?" Maura asked, but then stopped as well. "Oh."

Down the front steps, Lugh's father came with a face that did not bode well for anyone within a twenty-seven kilometre radius. What was especially worrying was the way he swung his large axe around as if it were nothing.

"So." His quiet voice was a little _too_ quiet. "I see our slacking son has yet again left for a vacation. Would you please inform the rest of us about the new holidays you've founded?"

"But I _was_ working!" Lugh protested.

"Oh? And do you have any proof?" His voice steadily got louder. "Did you ever think that, if you had done any work, you'd have _brought something home to **prove it?**_" He was now shouting. "**_When I think about all the-_**"

"Um, excuse me," Simon called. "He did cut down a tree, but things got a little confused after he and Camellia fought off the bandits."

"Oh." Mood swinging appeared to be normal, because Lugh didn't even twitch whenever his father suddenly was cheerful. "Well, that's good. He'll just have to cut it into pieces and bring it home."

"But-" Lugh protested.

His father loomed over him with a most scary expression. "_He'll just have to cut it into pieces and bring it home._"

"Er, yes, sir."

"Good!" The man now had the most benevolent expression in the world on his face. "Who's your friend?"

"Don't you mean 'friends'?" Lugh asked turning around. He frowned as he saw only Camellia standing there. "Hey, where did?"

Maura and Simon stuck their heads out from behind Camellia. "Is it safe to come now?" Maura asked timidly.

"This is normal for my dad," Lugh reassured them.

His father looked confused. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" the children chorused.

He was confused for only a moment longer before grinning widely. "Well, come in! We can talk over. . . ." His face fell. "Wait a moment. We've just finished lunch." He smiled despite the audible growling from their stomachs. "I guess you'll be able to do without! Now, you four can go and get that tree cut up."

They were about to protest, but then his scary expression snapped into place. "Yes, sir!" they said in unison, running away.

He smiled and waved farewell. "Nice to meet you!" he called after their retreating backs.

"Is your father always like that?" Camellia asked.

"Oh, no," Lugh replied. "Usually, he's worse."

"Be serious."

"I am."

They walked through the forest towards the fallen tree silently, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Lugh had brought a cart that he and Camellia dragged along. Not surprisingly, they were as far apart as they could get while still dragging the cart. The group was nearly at the clearing when Simon spoke.

"Your brother . . . Bricriu. He mentioned some kind of contest when we met him first," Simon inquired. "What did he mean?"

"There's a contest held every year in the village," Lugh answered. "My brother's won it for the past three years straight, which is one reason he's so popular."

"What does one have to do?" Simon pressed.

"This." Lugh walked up to a tree that had a diameter equal to himself, taking the axe he had with the longer handle and smaller blade. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a breath and letting it out. Then he opened his eyes and struck the tree with his axe. It went clean through, dropping it to the ground.

Simon clapped, but Camellia looked scornfully at him. "How hard can that be?"

Lugh looked at her, annoyed. "Harder than you'd think. The winner is the one who can split the thickest tree."

Camellia glanced at the tree on the ground. "I can do that." She walked up to another tree of the same size. She looked at it, drawing her sword at the same time. "Stand back," she warned.

Adjusting her stance first, she swung with all her strength. Unfortunately, this only cut the tree partway. She stared at it for a moment, but then struck again. On her third hit, she was able to chop it down.

"Great job," Lugh congratulated her sarcastically, but added in a kinder tone, "That's actually very good for a beginner."

Camellia looked at the fallen tree. "When is this contest?"

"Three days from now," Lugh informed her.

Camellia sheathed her sword. "I will grow stronger," she vowed. "I will get better until I can beat that . . . that _jerk_ in the contest."

"A noble sentiment," Simon commented. "However, there is one thing the two of you missed."

Camellia looked at her friend sharply. "And what might that be?"

"Now that you've cut down those trees, we have to take them back to the village as well," he answered calmly.

The other three looked at the trees, which didn't seem so small anymore.

"_Arrrrrrrrrrgh!_" Camellia's shout startled several birds into flight.

After the meeting, the woman on the throne dismissed the Bringer of Truth, Shadow Walker, and even her bodyguard. She needed to do this alone. She opened a hidden door placed in the wooden walls that surrounded the room and walked up the brown stone steps.

At the top, she found a complex etched design on the floor. Reaching into the pocket of her robes, she produced a small stone. Using it as a focus, she cast the Teleport Psynergy. Coloured lights swirled around her, covering her completely. She knew that it appeared that the spheres scattered, but as it always did, she felt nothing but the warm light pressed against her. In moments, they disappeared, placing her in a small room.

The sole light in the room, coming from an uncovered window that was completely open to the sky, fell upon her. She flicked her brown hair to fall halfway down her back. Her large brown eyes surveyed the room. Many had learned, too late, that her warm eyes did not mean she was vulnerable, naïve, or even very gentle. Her black robes hung loose, belted at the waist with a multitude of hidden pockets.

"Who calls?" a voice asked from within. The voice seemed like that of a young girl, but, unlike any girl that the woman had ever met, her voice was completely emotionless.

The woman bowed her head respectfully, but did not speak. She knew the seer's ways.

Then the owner of the voice stepped into the light.

I was going to put something here in place of my muse skits, but I can't think of anything. So, I'll just say: Tales of Symphonia is love.


	8. My Foe, The Dishes

A/N: Back again! I'll bet you didn't expect me to be back so soon! MWAHAHAHA! PITIFUL MORTALS! YOU KNOW NOTHING OF MY POWER!

Ahem.

Well, I've rewritten chapter seven, as the first rendition was horrid. To those who I showed the original version: is this one good?

No review responses this time, so straight onto the glorious (maybe) work of Stone Tablet: Chapter 7!

Chapter 7: My Foe, The Dishes 

Kotan was a mercenary famous for both his skill with the dagger and the way he used it. Instead of taking the way of an assassin, as most users of such weapons, he fought directly with his foe. Or, more to the point, the foe of his employer. Kotan never kept the same employer long enough to begin to gain any personal grudges. Once he was given a better offer, he chose to discreetly dispose of his former employers. He found that this decreased the number of prospective buyers, but the ones remaining were much more interesting—and more desperate, which meant higher pay. The only ones left, other than those who hadn't heard of the unfortunate fates of other employers, were those confident that they could keep themselves safe. That meant that, being worthy opponents themselves, their own opponents were just as strong or even stronger. Kotan had been in some tough battles due to this, but just because he chose to meet his foes face-to-face didn't mean he couldn't resort to underhanded tactics.

He was sitting in a large chamber of the cave that he called his home when he noticed a long shadow come from the door. He had placed lamps in the right positions to make any who entered cast a shadow through the doorway. He looked up.

His dark haired guest was unwary. He would have to be taught fear.

"Don't move." Kotan's low voice was a little raspy and cold as ice.

The intruder froze. In a move that appeared almost casual, Kotan threw a dagger, aiming to miss. It sliced a shallow cut in the man's cheek before hitting the wooden wall set up to muffle the sound of the dagger hitting it.

"Thank you," Kotan said quietly. He offered no explanation for his actions.

The man, now wary, placed a hand on his sword inside his cloak. A dagger sliced through the cloak and embedded itself into the sheath before he even noticed Kotan move.

"None of that," Kotan informed him. "State your business."

"I am the Bringer of Truth," the man declared in a pompous air diminished by the slight quiver in his voice. "My master wishes to employ you. We will pay you well."

Kotan looked unimpressed. "Let's see what you've got."

The Bringer of Truth tossed a large bag of coins onto the floor.

Kotan waggled his fingers. "If that was all your master was offering, then you wouldn't have placed it all on the floor right away. Make this worth my while."

The man seemed affronted. "My master will not give terms for any bartering!" he said indignantly.

A dagger appeared, as if by magic, in each hand. "Let's be reasonable," Kotan said calmly and coldly. "These are simply negotiations. Here are my own terms: no negotiations, no returning messenger."

This had the desired effect. Another purse of the same size landed on the floor. "Negotiations" continued until four identically sized purses lay piled on the floor.

At this point, he felt the time was right to begin examining the contents. Although outwardly, his expression didn't change a bit, inside, he was impressed. This "master" must either be incredibly rich or was planning on disposing of him afterwards. Either way, the result would be the same for this employer as was his last employer going to have. . . .

"Acceptable. I will need just a few days in order to settle my affairs with my former employer," he said emotionlessly.

His employer's messenger shivered. Good. He knew what he meant. They had done research. Smart of them.

"Who is my target?" Kotan asked.

The man drew himself up importantly.

"Your opponent," the Bringer of Truth told him, "is Shi Maido."

Shi Maido, relentless assassin and one of the few without Psynergy who ever attained fame, stood in front of his travelling companion. Both faces were serious as Shi Maido began to speak.

"We are about to face a foe from which few can escape unchanged. The mere mention of it sends even warriors to flight." Shi Maido raised his long, thin weapon high. "But we are honour-bound to do it. We have taken our time with the pleasures that it so invitingly offered and we must reap what we have sown. If we do not return, at least the world will be left with the knowledge that there are two in this world who will stand in the face of the horror and do what is right despite the trials. Are you ready?"

The five-year-old he was addressing looked up at him. "You're beginning to worry me, mister," she said, holding her own scrub brush. "You do realize you're talking about doing the dishes?"

"Yes!" Shi Maido said, using his scrub brush to gesture at the dirty bowls, spoons, and pot. "For as we have eaten, so must we wash up! It is a far, far better thing than I have ever done, but despite the dangers. . . ."

"You're just weird, mister."

"And, please, stop calling me that."

The girl opened her mouth.

"Don't call me sir, either!" Shi Maido insisted quickly.

She closed her mouth and thought for a moment. "Very well, old man."

Shi Maido placed his head in his hands. "Is 'Shi Maido' so hard?" he sobbed exaggeratedly.

"Yes, old man."

Shi Maido shook his head. "Just call me mister, little one."

"Fine, mister little one," she said innocently.

Shi Maido glared at her. "You're just being facetious, aren't you?"

"Yes, mister," she replied.

Shi Maido stopped in mid-sigh. "Wait a minute—what's a five-year-old doing knowing the word 'facetious', anyway?"

"It's a secret, mister."

He sighed and looked up. "Why does that seem to be a common thing for her to say?" he asked the sky, before his gaze returned to the small travelling companion. "Whatever you say, little one."

The girl frowned. "I say that you stop using 'little one' to refer to me, mister."

"Very well, tiny one," Shi Maido replied, grinning.

The girl sighed. "That's even worse, mister."

"I know. Ow!" Shi Maido clutched his leg where Toppu had hit him. "What _do_ I call you, then?"

". . . Something else."

"What's your name, anyway?" Shi Maido asked.

"I'm not supposed to tell," she replied.

"Hmm . . . are you an Adept?" he asked.

"Yes," she began to recite, emotionless. "I am one of the Adepts under the influence of Jupiter, the spirit of the wind; thereby I can use my powers to bend nature's storms to my will and discover the secrets of the human mind. As well, those under Jupiter are blessed with higher intelligence and are therefore the guides of Weyard to greater prosperity. I will uphold my proud lineage by following the four pillars of truth, loyalty, strength, and honour; without these we are as the low who wander through evil devoid of the guidance of our birthright."

Shi Maido stared openly. "Where in the _world_ did you learn _that_ nonsense?" he asked.

"It's a-"

"I know, I know. 'It's a secret, mister,'" he said, resigned to his fate. "But we can't just leave you nameless. Let me think . . . Toppuu, perhaps?"

She looked suspicious. "That doesn't mean 'little one', does it?"

"No, although that would be a good idea," Shi Maido replied. "It's 'gust of wind' in the language that my people used to speak."

"That had better be right, mister, or else . . ." Toppuu said.

"Or else what?" Shi Maido asked.

"Or else I'll make you do the dishes at every inn that we pass," Toppuu warned.

"Yikes! You're evil when you want to be, Toppuu."

As the two began to wash the dishes, someone watched from the trees.

"My newest employers are idiots," Kotan muttered to himself. "They send I, the greatest of all mercenaries, to take down a single non-Adept? That messenger's sword must have been for show only if they needed _me_. I could hire a _child_ to do this." He held up a hand that glimmered with knives. "Maybe I'll just finish him off right now." He leaned back and threw several daggers.

Shi Maido didn't notice them right away, but when he did, he pulled Toppuu with him down into the water. Most of the knives stuck into the bowls that Shi Maido threw upwards, while the last clattered on a rock on the other shore.

Toppuu returned to the surface, sputtering. Shi Maido returned to the bank, his elven sword out.

"As I thought," Kotan said, dropping from the tree. "You couldn't even notice me in the trees. Non-Adepts really are worthless."

Shi Maido's right eye twitched slightly, but he tried to remain cheerful. "Ah, we've a guest. I should have saved some of the _lovely_ soup that I made. I can make more in a minute."

"You're not worth the time. Let's get going quickly." Kotan threw off the blue cloak he was wearing. His tall form was draped with sheathed daggers. He drew a couple, lazily.

Shi Maido initiated the battle, coming at Kotan from the right and swinging to the left. Kotan blocked with one knife and drove the other dagger towards Shi Maido. Shi Maido brought up an arm and blocked it with the short sword hidden in his sleeve. At the same time, Shi Maido attempted to kick at a vital and sensitive place in his opponent's anatomy, but Kotan's leg blocked the attempted strike. Shi Maido slid his arm along where he was guarding from the dagger and reached for his opponent's throat. Kotan left his dagger in Shi Maido's shoulder as he placed the now free arm in front of himself.

Shi Maido spun counter-clockwise, his sword still in his left hand. Kotan tried to attack, but the dagger was repelled by the dagger in Shi Maido's shoulder. Shi Maido grunted and continued to spin as the dagger in his shoulder was ripped out. Kotan drew another dagger and tried to block the path of Shi Maido's sword. Both bodies jarred at the impact and their weapons went flying.

Kotan raised his right hand and sent one of his daggers plunging towards Shi Maido's neck. However, he stumbled and missed as Shi Maido slammed the short sword he had drawn from his sleeve into Kotan's leg. Shi Maido gasped between his teeth as the dagger that was hanging from a chain around Kotan's neck scratched a fine line down the back of his head. He shook his left arm and let the short sword hidden there fall partly out of its sheath. He twisted his left arm around to strike behind his back, but Kotan kicked with both legs at Shi Maido's back. As Shi Maido was thrown forward, Kotan landed on his back and grimaced as he jolted his injured leg in the landing.

Shi Maido got back to his feet and began backing away to get his sword back. Kotan used the time to get up and pull the short sword from his wounded leg.

"Better than I thought," Kotan said, reaching behind his neck to unhook the chain that held one of the daggers like a necklace. While Shi Maido picked up his sword, Kotan moved his headband up, which had begun to slip in the confusion. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Just like my master did. Before I killed him, that is."

"Come now, what's not to enjoy?" Shi Maido replied. "A wounded shoulder, nearly losing my life. . . ."

"I wasn't talking about the battle." Both men tensed in preparation. Shi Maido held his elven sword in his right hand and one of his short swords in his left. Kotan no longer had such a large number of daggers prepared; instead, he held only one that was also secured to his hand by the chain that was once around his neck.

Kotan literally blurred and disappeared. Shi Maido nearly took at step backwards but then began to look for his opponent.

"Even if your speed is great enough to seem to disappear, you won't be able to get past me," Shi Maido told him. "Your strategy could use a little work."

"It's not speed," Kotan said. Shi Maido followed the sound to some trees near where Kotan had been standing. "It's magic."

Shi Maido began to whirl. The second sentence had come from behind him. Behind him, Kotan had appeared. However, Kotan stumbled when landing on his right leg at the same time as Shi Maido began to move, causing his stab to miss any vital areas. Shi Maido thrust back where Kotan was with his short sword, but Kotan vanished again. Shi Maido unbalanced and landed on his behind as Kotan reappeared several metres away.

"A little memento from my master." Kotan ran a finger tenderly across its surface before briskly wiping off the blood with a cloth. "Even if your sword is magic, a Non-Adept could never use it to its full capacity. Of course, even at this level, the sword's probably more useful than any Non-Adept."

Shi Maido got up running, smiling casually. He attacked where Kotan was, but Kotan vanished again.

"An assassin's best friend, that's what this is," Kotan said, reappearing near the water's edge. "No speed can save you against this." He vanished again as Shi Maido slashed at him.

Shi Maido, started to turn, but kicked a bag and fell into a deeper part of the river with it. He came up again with his two swords in a defensive position.

"Very good defensive position in most cases," Kotan mentioned before disappearing. He reappeared behind Shi Maido in the river and shoved his knife into Shi Maido's back. "But your back is-or rather was-wide-"

Shi Maido's short sword cut through Kotan's arm and pinned him to the opposite shore.

"It was. I think I lost a few pasteries," Shi Maido commented, driving his other sword through Kotan's other arm. Almost lazily, he pulled out the bag that had fallen into the river out from the back of his shirt. A bun slipped out through the hole in the bag and landed in the river. "Toppu, turn away."

"You're going to kill him, aren't you, mister?" Toppu asked, turning obediently.

Shi Maido sighed loudly. "This would all be so much easier if you were a _normal_ five-year-old," Shi Maido said, arms raised in a half-shrug and looking around as if for divine aid.

He looked down at Kotan. He didn't notice Kotan's hand stretching towards the chain of the dagger. He was too occupied with Kotan's face.

"I'm sure that this is all a misunderstanding," Shi Maido said, his casual appearance seeming to be a little more fixed than usual. "You're an Adept. Of course someone who was sinful enough to be born without the touch of Fate couldn't beat a noble one as yourself." Shi Maido took another sword out from inside his clothing. Drawing it, he commented, "Fate would protect one of his chosen, now, wouldn't he? I'm sure this will all be resolved in the manner it's supposed to be, by Fate's will. Of course, Fate may be a little late. After all, there are so many of his chosen in the world now. He must be awfully busy."

Kotan stared with open hatred. His muscles were all clenched and his hands began to fist. "Don't talk like that. You're enjoying it, aren't you? The power over another living creature-just like my master did when he killed my-"

"I'm sure you have a lovely sob story prepared, but I'm afraid we're out of time," Shi Maido said cheerily. He brought the sword close. "Bu-bye."

"See you soon," Kotan replied, trying to match Shi Maido's relaxed manner. His fingers closed around the chain and pulled. The dagger flew across the small gap and landed in his hand. Shi Maido, realizing this too late, tried to kill his prone enemy, but Kotan blurred and vanished, leaving the swords that pinned him behind.

Shi Maido let a growl escape for a second before he straightened and began to collect his swords. "You can look now, Toppuu."

Toppuu turned towards him. She eyed the scene critically for a moment. "Letting him get away was sloppy, mister," she told him.

Shi Maido looked back at her and nearly dropped one of his swords. "Sometimes, I wonder if you're not someone older disguised as a little kid."

"I'm not little, mister! I'm five!"

"Then again, sometimes you react just like you're supposed to." He sighed. "I just wish that was more often." He began to gather his stuff up. "I think I'm going to have to see a healer soon," he commented as he took out some cloths from a bag and began to tie them on crookedly. Looking at his bloody shirt, he added, "And I'm going to have to do the laundry again. I just wish people had the courtesy to attack me when I'm wearing my red shirt."

Kotan dragged himself through the forest. He'd been able to dull the pain with an Aura spell, but he still had to get to a healer to stop the dripping blood. After he rested, he'd come back to kill that Non-Adept. That Shi Maido had been lucky all over the place. Next time, things would end differently now that he knew what he was up against. There was no way that an Adept of his calibre could lose to any Non-Adept.

"Failure," a child's voice said, interrupting his planning.

"What?"

"You failed. . . ." The child didn't even seem to be paying attention to what she was saying. "Failure is death."

"Hey, what in Chiron's name are you talking about?" Kotan said, glaring up towards the voice. "I just wasn't prepared. I'll take him on with all my strength and then there's nothing that he can do to avoid death."

"You failed. . . . You die."

Kotan stared. He almost thought that he was imagining things through the pain of his injuries. He'd never seen any wolves that were pure white, nor any that big. However, there it was, plain as day.

"Hey, is this some kind of joke? I can take on wolves any!"

Something slammed into his back. He tried to disappear, but he realized that he no longer held his dagger.

"You die . . ." the child said again. That was the last Kotan ever heard.

For those confused by something in Stone Tablet, you can e-mail me (not recommended, due to the _long_ time between when I check my e-mail) or go to my livejournal (http : ww w.livejou rnal. com/ users/ yosan) (remove spaces). At any of my insane posts, just place any questions in the comments. I'll try to find and answer them. As for the moment, so long until chapter 8 (which also needs some tweaking)!

Preview of the next chapter:

**Lugh was cut off as he was crushed from behind by what felt like a moving wall. By the time Bricriu's female supporters had finished filling up the section, only the tall ****Shi Maido**** was still visible, with the child travelling with him on his shoulders. He waded through the sea of hormonal girls, making his way to the next crowd. He stopped when he made it and looked back. After a few moments, Simon, Maura, Lugh, and Camellia crawled out.**

**"What's _with_ that guy, anyway?" Camellia growled. "He's such a . . . he's a . . ."**

**"He's a jerk," Lugh offered.**

**"Thank you. He's such a ****_jerk!_****" Camellia yelled.**

Constructive criticism is always welcome!


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